Agere Sequitur Credere
by Eetic
Summary: Set two months after Beverly Crusher's heroic rescue of the man she loves, Picard and her must find a way to deal with their changing relationship amidst chaos, and the backdrop of galactic turmoil. Picard is thrust into a command he had not sought, and an insidious enemy threatens the very fabric of the Federation. P/C, A/U. Please review. It helps - a lot!
1. Chapter 1

Agere Sequitur Credere, Chapter I

Disclaimer: Paramount is just that.

Written by Eetic

Author's Note: This story will deal with darker themes, sexuality and violence. Some chapters will receive, as a precaution, an 'M' rating. This will be clearly marked at the beginning of the chapter.

_Two months after the events of _Delenda Est.

"Evasive patter gamma-three. Open fire with the forward phaser banks, target their weapons and impulse drives." Data's voice set into motion a buzz of activity.

The darkened bridge was illuminated in a soft red glow from the alert lights that pulsed on and off, and the controlled chaos of the ship's command centre reassured Picard that nothing was wrong yet.

The war had taken a sinister turn over the the past weeks, and Starfleet had been thrown on the defensive across the quadrant. The great M'loi battleships had been seen in greater numbers, augmenting their powerful cruiser fleet, making the conflict far more deadly than it had started out. Casualties had begun to mount as more and more engagements led to severe losses. Starfleet was less concerned about the loss of the ships, but rather the depletion of trained crewmembers and officers.

It had been nine years, but that had not been enough time to fully heal the deep scars that the Dominion had gouged in the Federation. Recruitment numbers had never been higher, but the casualties sustained in the war against the Founders had numbered in the tens of millions, and Starfleet had borne the brunt of those. Ships were being constructed faster than Starfleet could train men and women to crew them, and that lead to rushed preparation for the task of running a system with the size and complexity of a Starship.

The _Enterprise_ rocked after being hit, but the Tactical Officer reported that only minor damage had been sustained. The wreck of a M'loi cruiser drifted past the viewscreen, and the bright lance of a type 12 phaser bank struck and bore into the flank of their battleship. _Enterprise_ had been ambushed outside of a nebula by a M'loi battleship and two cruisers, and, much to Picard's great pride, had at last gained the upper hand. He knew that fatalities in the crew would be high, but that was what war was about. He said a silent thanks to those who had given their lives for their comrades, and continued to watch the tactical screen. His knuckles were white from the grip they had on the armrests of his chair.

_Enterprise _was still without support ships, as Picard had requested specific officers and ships that were currently assigned. Being who Picard was, his requests were being pushed through the bureaucratic red tape endemic to any large institution, and Geordi La Forge, captain of the _Dauntless_, and Worf, recently returned from another tenure as Ambassador to the Klingons, captained the _Defiant_, refitted once again to serve. Picard would have found it irksome in the extreme to head a fleet without Will Riker in it, and he managed to snag the _Titan_ from patrol duties in the Argolis Cluster to serve as a secondary flagship.

The last two positions he needed to fill, captains for the _Damocles_ and her sister ship, _Odysseus_, were taking longer. They were _Sabre_-class ships, and didn't warrant a Captain for command. Rather, Picard had chosen Lieutenant Commanders Christine Grande and Tannar of Vulcan to serve in those positions. Both were untested as field commanders, but Picard had review both of their histories. The Admiralty had bemoaned the fact that skilled Masters and Commanders were difficult to find these days, and Picard took it upon himself to help teach a new generation of captains. He could not think of better instructors than Will, Data, Geordi, and Worf.

"Sir, the battleship is coming about. Forward shields are down to 34%, and we've sustained heavy damage to decks thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen. Casualty reports coming in from those decks."

"Acknowledged." "Engage a one second burst of warp eight, and then back to impulse." "Reroute power from the rear shields to the forward shields." Data ordered helm and tactical.

"Fire all forward weapons on my command. Target their shield generators."

The inertial dampeners didn't quite keep up with the manoeuvre, and all on the bridge was lurched into their seats at the sudden, massive acceleration. Coming out of warp, the Captain gave the order to fire, and the battleship began to list, plasma leaking from its broken hull.

"Take us about, heading 223 mark 321. Correction: 187 mark 302. Target quantum torpedoes on the battleship's aft section. Fire."

The _Enterprise_ glided through space towards the other flank of the battleship, spewing energy at the larger vessel until its hull began to break apart. In large fleet engagements, the size and sheer power of the M'loi battleships were a dangerous threat, but in these small duels, their mass made them poor dogfighters. It turned out that the battleships were particularly susceptible to the manoeuvre that Picard himself had developed during the Battle of Maxia, almost thirty years ago.

The great ship broke apart under the assault, and Data ordered the _Enterprise _to back away before the power core ruptured, sending short lived, brilliant stars out in all directions.

_Another thousand deaths._

"I'm going to inspect the damage and help out if I can, Captain."

"Of course, Admiral." Data responded, rising from his command chair in respect.

Picard rose from the Admiral's Chair on the bridge, installed during their refit a month ago, and moved towards the turbolift, wanting to inspect the damage to the ship first hand. Moving as soon as he left his chair were his two young flag lieutenants.

The Admiral's prerogative regarding his personal staff was a source of great patronage. Serving under an admiral was often seen as a fast track to promotion, and the ability of an admiral commanding a squadron to promote, not just to acting rank, but substantively, was often seen as one of the great perks of the job. His choice of flag lieutenant would be scrutinized, and their careers would be almost assured to end with a captaincy if they so desired it, and kept a good record. He had asked, and received, permission to appoint not the traditional one, but rather two flag lieutenants, and Beverly had only needed to prod him slightly for him to make his choice.

"Any news from Earth?"

"Not as of five minutes ago, Admiral." Bellia Korax answered crisply.

Picard waited in the life while it sped along the inside of the ship, reflecting on the delicate situation he found himself in. Ever since Beverly had brought to his attention the thought that his subordinates saw him as a father figure, he had become acutely aware of how they looked at him. Even in the midst of a crisis, they gained strength from his calmness and experience. _Who the hell do I get to look to?_

_It's lonely at the top._ But of course, it wasn't. Over the past month and a bit, Beverly and he had continued to cultivate a careful relationship of sorts. As intimate as lovers, but without the physicality, he had come to rely on her as his confidant more than he used to. Hers was the shoulder he could count on being there, and hers was the face that calmed him. But she was in sickbay, now, tending to the worst of the wounded, and doing her duty. All he could do was try to help as best he could where help was needed the most.

The turbolift whisked them off to deck fourteen, the sight of the worst of the damage. Upon the door opening, the acrid smell of burning electronics mixed with the stomach churning scent of burnt hair and flesh, and together they assailed his nose and eyes, making him gag and his eyes well up in defence. The lighting in the hallway was low, and most of the people there were either dead or on the ground injured, their faces taking an infernal tint from the alert lights.

Moving towards the nearest prostrate form, he checked for a pulse. The young ensign whose neck he was checking opened his eyes.

"Admiral...I-" he tried to stand.

"Lie still, Ensign. You'll be ok. Medical is on their way."

The man smiled, trusting in the words of his leader.

His two lieutenants were silent, not used to this level of destruction. Over the past month, the _Enterprise_ had seen as much combat as she had the two years which had preceded, and it was beginning to show. The three week patrol cruise was coming to a close, and _Enterprise_ had seventeen more kills to her record. In another week, they were due to be in orbit around Earth, for final refit, and to gather the fleet that would be under Picard's command.

It was not long before he could see the medical teams at the far end of the hallway, assessing the states of each person, and prescribing their treatment. Every time a medic's face fell, he cursed at himself, thinking it would be one more letter of condolence that he'd have to write later that night. It never got easier, and he never got used to the hatred that welled in him at those forcing him to do this. Repair teams soon joined those of medical personnel, and were beginning to perform their own triage on the burned out panels and displays on this deck.

"Get back!" the cry was a second too late.

A power conduit exploded outwards, throwing a young engineer into the wall opposite. Her body slumped to the ground, her face was charred by the rupture, and her neck was jutting at an unnatural angle to the rest of her body. Picard thought he could hear the last few gasps of air as the young Bolian fought for her life, and then the gurgle when the fight was lost. Medics rushed over, but the sombre expressions confirmed Picard's fears, and he wanted to shout in rage. His two flag lieutenants gasped, and Rachel's hand went to her mouth to stifle a cry.

_They shouldn't have to deal with this. No one should have to see something like that. Yet, here we are, just another day in hell._

Rachel Yerla and Bellia Korax were too young to remember the Dominion War well, but Picard remembered, vividly, it's transgressions against life itself staggering in its magnitude, the horrors that he had witnessed, that still stayed with him a decade later.

He looked about him, and saw the division was clear amongst the personnel. There were those, looking at the dead and wounded, who were glimpsing their loss of innocence, unwilling to take their first steps into a crueller world, but unable to turn away from it any more. Others, he noted sadly, only wept for their innocence, long since taken from them by the Founders and a dozen others.

A junior officer had wretched and been sick from the sights and sounds he was being bombarded with mercilessly, and was looked ashamed of himself. The Admiral silently placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, and tightened it in support.

_There is no shame in that, young man. _The young officer straightened, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform. Picard welled with pride at the man, who moved to help some enlisted men and women clear away burning wreckage, only to reveal another body_._

The Admiral glanced about, and his eyes rested on one scene above all. He cursed silently, and smashed his hand against one of the blackened bulkheads in his sorrow. He cut his hand, and gasped. The pain, however, wasn't from the wound.

The young ensign that he had told would be fine was the cause of another fallen face. Another life mercilessly cut off, another grieving family, another memorial in space, _another loathsome letter._

_No shame in that at all. War makes fools and children of us all._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

"There is significant superficial damage to the secondary hull, as well as micro-hull breaches on decks eighteen through twenty-two. Repair teams have been able to seal most of them, however, and we expect to have warp drive up to warp six in less than two hours."

"Shields and weapon systems?" Data cocked his head to the side.

Barclay smiled. "We made them a priority, sir, and we expect to have full tactical system back online in less than fifteen minutes. We'll be doing a level-4 diagnostic on phaser capacitor systems, however, to make sure they haven't overloaded. That should be done before the warp drive is ready."

"Doctor Crusher, what is the status of the casualties?"

"Fourteen were killed, but the remaining twenty-seven wounded should expect to make a full recovery – most of them will be on their feet within hours, Captain." Beverly paused, "I also regret to inform you that Colonel Wellesley died at 1427 hours, from massive internal bleeding and synaptic degradation."

The room took a moment to look appropriately sombre, and then continued the briefing. No one missed the Colonel terribly, but he was still a respected member of the MACO contingent. Picard made a mental note to speak to some of them about it soon.

The briefing went on for another fifteen minutes, with each department head making his or her report on the readiness of the ship, should they run into more M'loi. Dismissing the senior staff, Data asked that Picard remain behind.

"We have received information from Starfleet command, Admiral. A recent engagement with the M'loi in the Utari system was fought. Elements of the 132nd fleet managed to push back the M'loi attacking the shipyards around Utari VII, however the starships_ Sovereign, Ticonderoga, Inviolate, T'Pol, _and _Hood_ were lost in action with all hands."

Picard had received that report as well, and the hurt from losing so many of his friends was still fresh. He knew Captain Saffi Larsen from he served as an adviser to _Sovereign's_ new captain after the tragic death of Captain Robert Wright of the _Dauntless_. Starfleet had just lost on of its most promising young captains.

"Yes, Data, I read those same reports." Rachel Yerla called up the report on the PADD she was carrying to reference.

"The loss of those ships has severely destabilised that front of the war. We are still scheduled to rendezvous back on Earth in a weeks time, but in light of the changing situation..."

"You believe we should head to the Utari system, Data?"

"Yes, Admiral, I do. If past experiences have shown anything, it is that the M'loi are prone to counter attack when they suffer a setback, and the fleet currently stationed in the Utari system has been severely depleted."

Picard considered this for a moment. Data was certainly right in his analysis of the M'loi outlook on war, and with the loss of five starships, three of them _Galaxy-_class, the defence of that system would be compromised.

The Admiral nodded slowly. "I would tend to agree with you, Captain. Set course for the Utari system as soon as we have warp capabilities. I am going to go speak with the MACOs."

"Aye, Admiral."

The MACOs on board were in a state of controlled confusion, the command structure being suddenly altered from the top down. Major Nathan Harris was now in command of their battalion, and that meant that one of the captains needed to be given his old job, which mean one of the lieutenants needed to take the captain's job, and so on. Outside one of the cargo bays, which had been converted to a temporary barracks for their use, the guards snapped to attention when the Admiral approached, two very pretty young ladies in tow.

"At ease, uh, corporal." Picard was still not well versed in MACO ranks and command structure. "Please, open the door."

Snapping off a smart salute, the young man turned to the control panel and opened the hatch, saluting smartly for a second time as the Admiral passed under the arch.

Men and women hurried around, training, or carrying out the hundreds of different tasks required to make twelve hundred people an efficient body of soldiers. A tall, spare man walked up to him. His jawline and chin were strong, and his eyes keenly bright.

"Admiral, this is an unexpected honour. If we had know you were coming, we could have-"

"I have no issue seeing people hard at work, Major. Actually, I came down to see how all of you were coping..."

The Major paused. "Well enough, sir. This is not the first time our battalion has lost its commander. During the Dominion War, we were stationed on Betazed during its fall."

Picard nodded, and remembered those weeks of uncertainty. The Dominion had taken one of the central planets of the Federation, and put itself in striking distance of Vulcan, Tellar, and Earth.

"Familiarity does not breed immunity, Major. I know that Colonel Wellesley was a respected member of the MACO organization. I know that you must be feeling a little...overwhelmed by the sudden change in command."

The major nodded slowly, "many in this regiment, myself included, served with Colonel Wellesley for more than a decade. We are all saddened by his loss. However, I can assure you, sir, that our resolve remains."

"I never doubted that for a moment, Major."

Continuing to walk around with Major Harris, Picard took an instant liking to the man. Everywhere they walked in the cargo bay, the Major was greeted with smiles and respect, a sure sign of a good and honest officer. Picard felt it proper to inform Major Harris of the situation, and the Major's face fell.

"What is the problem, Major?"

"Well, sir...if we went back to Earth, MACO Administration would assign a new Colonel to the regiment. As it stands, they won't be able to get one out here..."

"Leaving you in command, Major. Is there a problem?"

"Sir, I don't believe I'm ready to lead this battalion." His face turned scarlet.

Picard liked him all the more for it. He remembered his own promotion, after his captain on the _Stargazer_ had been killed, and the first officer wounded. _I wasn't ready then, either._

"Major, there are two types of command officers. The first were born to lead, ready from the moment they put on a uniform. Sometimes they become great commanders and generals, carving a name for themselves in the stone of history. More often than not, however, they get themselves and a lot of other people killed, being only to eager to make the big calls. The second group are those who have had command thrust upon them, either in times of need or after a tragedy. They think every action through, and put the lives of those under their command ahead of their own vainglory. There is no shame in being in the second group, Major. If more people were, I doubt wars would continue."

The Major thought silently, finally asking the obvious question.

"And you, sir? Which group do you fall into?"

Picard laughed darkly. "I'll be able to tell you that when I find out my manner of death, Major."

"Admiral, the Doctor asked me to remind you that you have a dinner engagement with her this evening at 1900 hours, and that it would be in Ten-Forward." Bellia was looking over his schedule.

_I never had a schedule as a Captain._

"Additionally, your reports to Starfleet Command are waiting on your desk. It would be best if that were dispatched before 1800 hours," Rachel piped in.

Picard sighed loudly. These two young women were a godsend with all of these new duties he was expected to perform. They had made the transition from security to administration, and wore command red well. The Admiral could not begin to imagine what life as a flag officer would be like without them, but he was certain it would not be nearly as easy.

_I remember Garret telling me that the real business of Starfleet is taken care of by the flag lieutenants. Admirals were just around to rubber stamp whatever their young officers put in front of them. I think I'm beginning to agree._

"What time is it now?"

"1722 hours, Admiral."

An even louder sigh escaped his lips, bringing a smile to Rachel and Bellia's faces. They were both extremely fond of their Admiral, and knew he hated filling out, filing, or making reports. In fact, he became quite irascible at the very mention of them.

"We've made a summary of what should be in the report, Admiral. You should be able to use it to make the full version quite simply."

He looked pleased at this turn of events, and led the way back to the Observation deck to finish what he needed to do. It took a little under half an hour to do what was necessary, and at the end of that time, he dismissed his two minders.

"Go, I can finish filing all of this. There'll be work aplenty when we finally reach the Utari system. Enjoy yourselves, and please report to my quarters at 0730 tomorrow morning. We'll need to go over command law governing ships in separate fleets. I'll have to be careful not to step on anyone's toes when we do finally reach the defence fleet."

"Aye, sir."

"Yes, Admiral. Have a good night."

Picard made it back to his quarters to get ready for his dinner tonight, and stepped into the shower. His leg was still hurting like hell as a result of the anti-rejection drugs used by both the new prosthetic limb, and his old prosthetic heart. He found himself taking longer and longer in the shower, as hot water seemed to help greatly with easing the discomfort he felt. Stepping out, he walked to his bedroom to dress, and noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Scrambling for a towel to protect his modesty, he noticed the fiery hair and self-satisfied smirk of Beverly Crusher. Sitting in one of his chairs, her legs were crossed, and her delicate fingers curled themselves in her hair, playing absent-mindedly with the flaming mane gracing her face.

"Still not ready, Jean-Luc? Tsk, tsk. Some people are so high maintenance.

Picard sneered back at her remarks, and went to his room to quickly don his clothes, a simply outfit, but comfortable.

"Some people need to put a little more effort into their appearance to match what comes naturally to others, my dear Beverly." he gallantly took her hand, and brought it to his lips. She laughed derisively, but her eyes shone, betraying her silent delight at his comment.

Taking his proffered arm, she got up, and they made their way together towards Ten-Forward.

"It'll be good to be able to sit down and relax." she craned her neck, "I feel as though we haven't seen each other in days. These medical refits are hell, Jean-Luc."

"I hear complaints from all over the ship about the refits not being easy to put in. Starfleet, however, believes that they will help the ship through this war. I guess I can take a more levelled view of it, since I don't actually have to _do_ anything about it."

"The joys of flag rank?"

"No, the joys of having everyone only too happy to do everything for me. It's like I'm an invalid." Picard shook his head in mock sadness.

"Well, you were missing a leg, Jean-Luc." Beverly grinned mischievously at that, which she knew would elicit a cutting remark.

"Oh? And that makes me an invalid? What, then, does that make you, my dear Doctor? I seem to recall it was you who asked to break the run first on the holodeck last week after only two dozen kilometres. Invalid, indeed." Picard sniffed in derision.

Beverly laughed, and tightened her grip on his arm. "Watch out, now, Admiral. There is a small incline coming up. I'd hate to have to perform a hip replacement this evening..."

She laughed harder as she ran into the turbolift, holding her sides with the effort to maintain some semblance of dignity. She noted there was no one around, and she laughed all the more.

Jean-Luc walked into the turbolift, and put his hands on either side of her head, palms to the wall of the moving car.

"You know, Doctor, I am an Admiral, and you ought to show me more respect."

Beverly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and said, "respect, Admiral? And how might I show my Admiral more respect?" She reached up and brushed her fingers across his lips. She knew what she could do to him, and he knew she liked displaying her power.

He swiftly closed the distance between their lips, and they embraced in turbolift, their tongues fencing briefly before breaking apart, their closeness eliciting a quiet moan from the Doctor.

"That is a good start, Doctor. Here endeth the lesson."

"Oh, Admiral, is that how you expect all junior officers to show you respect?" She put on the most innocent face she could conjure given the flutters she was experiencing in her core.

"Hmmm, that could be an interesting standing order..."

Beverly slapped his arm a little harder than usual, but the teeth showing through her smile belied her humour.

_I feel like a teenage girl, stealing kisses and making out whenever we are alone. It's very...stimulating. _

Their relationship had become more and more physical over the weeks, but, much to their frustration, Deanna had counselled them both to take things slowly, given what had happened only weeks ago. It had been difficult, and more and more Beverly found herself fantasizing about Jean-Luc during the day rather than being productive. They stole as much time as they could away to be with one another, and on more than one occasion had ended up passionately kissing in the turbolift – and once in the Jeffries tubes on deck eighteen.

It hadn't happened yet, but if they carried on like that for much longer, it was inevitable that some poor young ensign or crewman would die of embarrassment, walking in on his or her CMO sticking her tongue down the throat of the great Admiral Jean-Luc Picard of the _Enterprise_. She didn't even want to imagine what Jean-Luc would think, but she was certain he'd glow as red as a painstik. _But, I've got to admit, the fear of getting caught...the excitement of rushing..._

She inhaled sharply as pleasurable shivers wound their way down her spine to the base of her torso, causing her to shake her head in an attempt to clear it. _Now was not the time for that sort of thinking. I've got a dinner to eat._

Taking her to one of the smaller tables, the two sat down, their eyes stealing away glances of the other, meeting regularly with a warmth that was almost tangible. Ordering their dinner, they sat and talked, Beverly's hand often on Picard's, gently stroking his fingers with her own. Those around them smiled, happy to see the relationship that everyone had know to be going on for years between the two senior officers had finally been acknowledged by the two of them.

"We'll be going to the Utari system before heading back to Earth. _Enterprise_ will help stave off the likely counter attack they are expecting. I don't know when it will hit, but if the general M'loi strategy hasn't changed, they'll come within a week."

Beverly's face fell at this, and Picard winced at the feeling that it generated in the pit of his stomach. He hated seeing anything but happiness on that most dearest of faces.

"But we shouldn't be delayed for more than a week or two at the most. We'll just be assisting the 132nd fleet until additional reinforcements can arrive."

They ate in companionable silence for some time, the only conversation between them spoken through the glances and smiles that they shared, oblivious to all that was going on around them. After an hour, they had finished their meal, and got up to leave, Beverly whispering something into Picard's ear that made him laugh softly, speaking quietly to each other as they made their way out of Ten-Forward.

Finally making it to the turbolift, Beverly turned to Jean-Luc, caressing his chin with her fingers, bringing her mouth up to his, she kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Come in for a nightcap?"

Since that fateful night aboard the _Titan _weeks ago, the nightcap had become a sacred tradition for them. Not a few times did they end up on the floor or a couch with less clothes than was standard issue. And then, he would stop, or she would, and they'd both go to their own quarters. She fell asleep many nights sweating, or having to take a cold shower.

"Of course."

Both of them could feel the edge to their nights, the anticipation of what _could_ happen. This war had brought that out in most people a feeling of _carpe diem_, and Beverly had seen the number of people with contraceptive implants increase by over 80% in the past year. She felt frustrated by the fact that, apparently, she didn't need one. _God damnit, Deanna_. _You've got Will. When can I have Jean-Luc?_ The thoughts that had brought to her mind caused her to involuntarily groan.

"Beverly? Is something the matter?"

She blushed and looked at him, no, nothing...nothing is that matter. I'm just..." her voice trailed off. A look of concern crossed his face.

"If something is the matter, we'll go to sickbay. Should I call a-"

"No, Jean-Luc, believe me. I'm just...I'm fine. I'm just a little..." her hands went to her cheeks, she was blushing madly now, and she felt as though the room had risen in temperature.

It finally clicked for him. _Oh. Oh, I see. Well, now, Doctor, you might get to feel what it is like to be on the receiving end. _Madly fighting a smile, he continued in his most gravelly command voice.

"No, Doctor, you don't look fine. You're flushed, your breathing is erratic, and you're beginning to sweat." He felt her neck, "your pulse is heightened as well. You need medical attention."

"No, I just, no I really don't need them..."

Making the motion to tap his combadge, he set his face in stone. The hand nearly made it to his chest before Beverly's hand shot out to grab it.

_You know what? That's enough. Physician, heal thyself!_

"Computer, halt the turbolift!"

She grabbed him by the wrists, and, putting them behind his head, held them against the wall of the lift.

Her lips hungrily claimed his mouth, pushing aside his lips to gain entry.

"Jean-Luc," she said breathily, pulling away slightly, "it isn't medical attention I need, _believe me_."

His first thought was of those moments, back on the _Enterprise-D_, when the polywater intoxication took hold of the crew. She had been insistent then, and Picard have _very_ nearly given in to her in his ready room.

"Beverly, we're in a turbolift-"

"Mmhhmm? Are we? And?" Her words were punctuated by her lips on his face and neck, nibbling and sucking on the tender skin.

_Oh, god. If I have to walk through the corridors with...hickeys, I don't think I'll ever be able to live that one down._

_What the hell is wrong with me? Stop thinking!_

He began to move against her, kissing her pale, alabaster skin, returning her needful affections, freeing his hands from behind his head, he caressed her neck, stroking the sensitive skin beneath and behind her ears, eliciting a response that only whetted his appetites.

Moaning into his mouth as his hands worked, she pressed herself into him, increasing the contact which their bodies were experiencing, sending them both into near madness. Her lips and tongue continued their exploration of his mouth and neck.

Picard could feel her hands under his shirt, pressed against his body, she was working his taught back muscles, scratching him lightly with her long nails, making him gasp in a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. He could feel her breath quicken, matching his own. She was moving against him rhythmical, pressing him into the wall of the turbolift, moaning as his hands moved down her body, clutching at her with powerful fingers, moving her into his body with each beat, the symphony between them rising to cacophonous levels.

"Jean-Luc, I need..."

His hands wandered down lower, resting on the side of her thighs. She moved away from him to allow one hand to slip between the two of them before beginning to press into him again. She could feel his interest growing between them and each motion brought them closer together.

The abyss, from which there was only one return, opened its maw before them, the chasm of its depths beckoning feverishly to them both.

"Data to Admiral Picard, you are receiving a priority one subspace communication from Admiral Erod."

Picard was breathing heavily, in shuddering gasps. Beverly's hair was wild, the mix of sweat from each of them sticking it to the nape of Picard's neck, trailing itself across his skin as they pulled apart.

_That has to be the most erotic feeling I have ever experienced._ He shuddered with the feeling, and knew that he thought that every time it happened.

She was panting. He swallowed loudly, unwilling to tear his eyes from hers, now shining and sparked with fire and lust.

"Patch it to my quarters, Data. Thank you."

Picard's strong arms embraced her closer, loathe to release her from the joy they shared.

Beverly's eyes were closed. He could feel her shaking, and she could feel him tremble. They shared a last lingering kiss, and withdrew their hands from each others bodies, hating the feeling.

"Computer...resume turbolift."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

"Admiral Picard. It is good that you are bringing the _Enterprise_. I do not believe that I have the ships to maintain control of the Utari system should the M'loi counter attack."

"Those were my thoughts, as well, Admiral." Picard spoke quickly with the Vulcan, asking questions about the condition of his fleet, hoping to return to the beautiful woman in his sitting room as quickly as possible. He had often read in novels that a break in the passion served to dampen the lust between the characters in question. He couldn't say that was true of his situation, and was thankful he was sitting down during the conversation.

"When will you be arriving?"

"My Chief Engineer assures me that we will have warp 8 before morning, so we should be arriving in less than twenty hours."

"I look forward to your immanent arrival, Picard. Erod out." Picard sat back, and sighed.

The _Enterprise _was in bad need of a spacedock, but so were a dozen other ships in the 132nd, so there would be a very long waiting list. It didn't help matters that the Utari shipyards had been heavily damaged during the battle, and it would be some time before they would be able to handle a ship the size of _Enterprise_. The engineering section would have to do what it could, and hope that everything held together long enough.

"Jean-Luc? I'm getting lonely out here. You know what I'm like when I'm lonely." Her voice betrayed the pout which undoubtedly contorted her beautiful face.

Picard smiled. One of the most endearing qualities Beverly Crusher possessed was that she had a personality that held many different facets. He loved getting to know each and every different 'Beverly' as they appeared. Today, it seemed, was playful Beverly.

_And I _really_ cannot complain about that._

Walking out of the small office in the flag officer's quarters, he made for the replicator. Placing an order which had been a familiar one for years, he looked to his paramour, who voiced her wish for a glass of port, which he supplied to her. Sitting behind her on the couch as she sat, her legs crossed over one another to keep her skirt modest, a thought occurred to the two of them. Flashing through their heads, Deanna's visage looking stern and disapproving, like a mother worrying about what two juveniles were up to on a warm and dark summer's night.

They both laughed, acknowledging the shared sentiment, and she sipped delicately of the dark red liquid in her glass, savouring the warmth it supplied to her body as it slid down into her abdomen. The sweetness perfectly set off her mood, and she tilted her head back as he ran his hands through her hair, the warm glow from the liquor that lit her cheeks made her look even more enticing to Picard, who set his tea aside.

"Beverly, I'm sure I told you this before, but I cannot imagine a more beautiful woman than you."

The earnestness and truth in his voice took Beverly aback. She blushed and smiled demurely, looking away briefly before turning, and locking her eyes to his.

"Jean-Luc, why do you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it?" her question was quiet.

"Beverly, it isn't that I generally plan these sorts of things. I can't really explain why I say them, but whenever I look at you, I...I just feel the need to remind you. We've known each other for decades, and yet, every time I see you, you become more enticing, more beautiful."

"In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes..." Her voice was carefully self deprecating.

Picard laughed, "not at all, Beverly. You know as well as I that you are one damned sexy woman, one who..." he stopped talking, as a curious expression flew across her face.

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, the grin on her face stretched into a wide smile, and her eyes shone brightly. She looked up at him from the tops of her eyes.

"Jean-Luc, I believe _that_ was the first time you have ever called me sexy."

Picard was silent, "well, it is not a compliment you pay to someone who is not you...whatever you are to me." he shook his head quickly as her mouth parted, "no, that came out wrong. You're everything to me. But it has only been in the last few weeks that I've come to see you as...more than my best friend. I know that over the years we've gotten, uh, close a few times, but its only recently that I believed it wasn't a passing thing, but rather something more long lasting."

"I don't completely remember what I said that night after Kessprytt, but it was something incredibly dumb like 'we should be scared.' Jean-Luc, forgive me for being a fool for this long."

"It wasn't foolish. You made the right choice for the moment, and I certainly cannot fault you for that."

She thought for a moment. "Do you remember during the Psi 2000 virus, the moments in your ready room?"

He nodded, laughing silently that an event that happened almost twenty years prior should be thought of by him _and _her in the same night. Perhaps, given the situation, it shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"I was perfectly ready to jump you right there. And no, I am not being cute. Jump is the correct word for what I was wanting to do to you, Jean-Luc."

She took one of his hands, and brushed the finger tips with her lips, sending shivers up his arms.

"Beverly, perhaps we should-"

"Should what, call it a night? So I can go to my own bed, think about you and take care of my own needs, alone, when I could just do...this?"

Picard was instantly aroused by the thought of her 'taking care' of her own needs, thinking of him. Her hands roamed slowly up his legs, upwards towards his centre. The smile on her face told him that she knew _exactly_ how to control him, and his head lolled back.

"Bellia, Rachel! How are the two of you?"

The two women smiled graciously at their server, a handsome, dark skinned man named Thomas. Giving their drink order, they set about pulling out the PADDs they would be going over that night, before the morning briefing with their Admiral.

"From what I understand, Admiral Erod will remain in command of the fleet, while Admiral Picard will retain mission control of the _Enterprise_. However, confusingly, Erod will be able to our direct movements so long as we are in this sector. But, it is Picard's choice whether or not to stay in the system."

"So, as a vice-admiral out ranking a rear-admiral, Erod has overall command?"

"Well, yes, but the basis of Erod's control of the ships in this system comes from his position of admiral in command of the _sector_ rather than his substantive rank being higher."

"But I thought that Erod was the admiral commanding the 132nd, rather than the sector?"

"He is, but as the 132nd is assigned as the resident fleet based in this sector for now, he holds position effectively the same as an admiral with a sector command, which is why, even though the _Enterprise_ won't be part of the 132nd, Erod will still have overall authority."

"But Admiral Picard will remain in mission control of _Enterprise_?" Rachel rubbed her temples, trying to get her head around the intricacies of Admiralty politics and conventions.

"He will, however, in essence be seconding his authority over the _Enterprise_ by taking it into a system with an Admiral attached to it, and staying there."

"But Admiral Picard could order the _Enterprise_ out of the system, therefore taking back mission control again any time he wanted to?"

"Just so."

"Fuck. I need a drink."

"Beverly..."

She stood, and sat, her legs straddling his, on Picard's lap, the skirt she had worn riding up. Placing her hands on either side of his jaw, she swooped in for a kiss. Her hair draped around their heads, blocking out the light, creating for them the illusion of their own, perfect, world. His hands moved to her waist as she began the same rhythmic motions as before, the volume and speed of their breaths increasing with each movement, each period of contact. She was moaning softly into his mouth, but never broke away, causing him to groan at the feeling of her breath on his tongue. A powerful urge came over Picard to remove her blouse, and his fingers began lifting the silken garment higher and higher, all the while massaging and caressing the tight skin of her back, eliciting gasps from her.

Lifting the article of clothing over her head allowed him a few short breaths before their tongues rejoined, the passion doubled to make up for those lost moments of intimacy as the blouse passed between their lips.

"You make me feel like a teenager, Jean-Luc. Giddy about getting to second base." she began pulling apart the loose shirt he had been wearing, and the feeling of her long fingers on his chest was heaven to him. His own fingers he used to unhook the clasp of her bra, and pull it off, exposing her milky white breasts to the cool air of his quarters. She gasped at the stimulation.

Putting one hand on her waist and one on her neck, he slowly guided her down, on her back, to the floor. She wrapped her powerful dancer's legs around his waist, and their tongues found each other again, the pace and passion of their kissing now frantic.

Picard's hands moved from her hips to the full breasts, now bared to his touch. Tenderly thumbing the soft flesh, he felt her back arch into his hand, bringing more of him into contact with the sensitive skin, eliciting a purr from the woman beneath him.

"Jean-Luc, if we go any further, you have to _promise_ me you'll finish the job. You already drive me to distraction when I'm on duty...after this, I won't be able to walk right if you stop."

In response his thumb and index finger took one of her nipples between them, and gently squeezed, causing a groan of pleasure, her hands to clench on his upper back, and her back to arch even more, tilting her head back, baring her neck fully to him.

Answering her intimated wish, his lips moved to her neck, and began to lick and kiss her alabaster throat, the squirming under him informing Picard that his efforts were greatly appreciated.

"Jean-Luc, if you don't finish me now, I'm going to go insane. Please..." The plea came in gasps and moans, punctuated by the grasps of her hands, strong against his body. Her body writhed from side to side, trying to add to the contact between them.

Supporting himself on his elbow, his other hand moved lower, feeling the skin of Beverly's stomach and hips before reaching the barrier of her skirt. Circumventing the top, his fingers brushed lower, down to the hem. Tracing a design up her inner thigh, they began to explore the soft flesh of her upper legs, causing her breath to shudder, and her breathing to become erratic.

"Jean-Luc, please. Please. I need..."

Drawing a gentle line across the fabric of her undergarments, he could feel her shake perceptibly at the touch. She ground down onto his hand, and his palm came up to meet her fully, pushing gently but insistently against her core.

She moaned his name loudly, and her rhythmic movements began to accelerate. Continuing to love her neck with his tongue, she could sense her approaching climax, and guided his mouth slowly down her neck to her bosom, willing him to lavish his attentions on her breasts. One of her hands clutched his head to her body, and the other raked across his skin, tightening on the back of his neck.

Tightening her legs' hold around his waist, she let out long scream accompanied by a string of expletives in a host of different languages. He could feel waves running through her body as the insanity of the climax took control, causing her to toss her head wildly. Her normally delicate, soft voice became harsh, uttering words that would make a Klingon blush and cover his ears.

Finally, after moments seeming like an eternity, the vice-like grip of her legs relented, and the convulsions that still racked her began to subside. Sweat poured from her forehead as she lay back, spent and sated, fighting to control her breathing.

Her body trembled with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and her hands still clutched Jean-Luc's body, unwilling to let go of the closeness they had each experienced.

A sound, perhaps a mixture of laughing and crying, came from her mouth after a few minutes.

"I, wow. That was, I don't even..." thoughts did not come easily to her at this moment, and she was only able to form a single coherent thought.

"Water."

Jean-Luc reached up to the table, and grasped the glass carefully. Taking a sip of it for himself, he brought it over to Beverly, who, much to his shock and surprise, drank about half of what was left, and poured the rest of it over her face and neck. Picard could _swear_ he heard sizzling.

Managing to control her breathing after a few more moments, she propped herself up on her elbows, her face red with passion and exertion, her skin moist with sweat and water. Picard had never seen anything so statuesque in his entire life.

Smiling at him dreamily, she returned to her back, her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath she drew in. Taking his hand, she squeezed it weakly, and, bringing it to her mouth, kissed the back of it.

"My god, Jean-Luc, I used to think of Admirals as just a bunch of old people who were barely alive. If it became known that there was an Admiral in the Fleet who could do that, you'd have every pretty young officer wanting to be your assistant."

He lay beside her, tenderly kissing her stomach, enjoying the warm afterglow of her pleasure. He smiled. "Beverly, you're forgetting the pair of pretty, young officers I already have as assistants."

"Mmmm. You're right, Jean-Luc, I did forget. I must say, my dear Admiral, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you chose them for something other than their administrative skills."

"It's just happy coincidence that they happen to be more than competent at their job, Beverly. I assure you."

She laughed gaily at his remark, knowing it was made in jest.

After a few moments, he chuckled. "What really surprised me the most was that you knew how to curse in so many languages. It was really quite educational..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but who's fault is that, do you think? You can't make someone feel like that, and expect her to keep calm, collected, and quiet about it. I'm just lucky Deanna isn't nearby. She probably could have felt that from a light year away."

"Beverly?"

"Hmm?"

"I like the things you say."

She smiled wickedly. "I have traits besides a honeyed tongue." Her voice was a low purr, and her hands raked lightly across his chest, tracing down his abdomen, lithely unclasping the belt about his waist.

"I wonder how many languages a man of your experience can swear in? I've always been curious..."

Her blue eyes ignited once more, holding his own entranced by their flame. He groaned at her hand's dexterous attentions.

_God, the things you say..._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Author's Note: This chapter may seem cheesy, but I felt something was needed. I hope you'll all forgive me for it!

"Admiral on the bridge."

Picard stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_. Striding to his chair, he sat down, and watched the viewscreen intently, waiting for the inevitable compression of the starlines, and the reversion to realspace.

He had never, in all the years he had served aboard starships, gotten tired of watching stars fly past, their light elongated by the warp effect. It had filled him with a sense of wonder the first time he had experienced it, and that wonder had never subsided.

"Time of arrival in the Utari system, Captain?"

"Eight minutes, twenty-two seconds, Admiral."

"Very good."

The bridge was active, but not bustling like it usually was. The night watch was always quieter, the lowered lights lending themselves to the atmosphere of peace. That peace, however, was only an illusion. Picard knew that, in a day, or two days, or a week, the _Enterprise_ and its crew would be, once again, fighting for their lives. The more times Picard went into battle, the more he dreaded the prospect. He had never been one to believe in fate, but even he sometimes believed that the numbers were slowly stacking against him every time he survived.

Behind him stood Bellia Korax and Rachel Yerla. That morning, they had exhaustively briefed him on protocol regarding one admiral joining up with another, and the procedures and conventions in place to deal with that eventuality. He hadn't even thought it to be a big deal – a thousand years of naval history, however, disagreed strongly with him.

Picard had never met Erod of Vulcan personally, but the Admiral's gained a reputation for cunning and boldness during the Dominion War, leading his ships to victory, often against superior numbers. Picard was looking forward to working with the man, and had no compunction about acknowledging his authority in his own sector. He was, after all, sending the _Enterprise_ to help, not command.

"Sir, for the reception, do you believe that the menu should be entirely vegetarian, or should meat be included as a choice. I believe it should be-"

"Admiral, Erod is Vulcan, and is a vegetarian-"

"So he can choose not to have meat. I don't understand why the whole menu should be vegetarian for one man."

"That man happens to be a vice-admiral-"

"So he can order no meat. He isn't a stranger to giving orders."

Picard smiled at the two young officers with fondness. They had been instrumental to him making his transition to flag rank. Without them, he'd have been lost in a mountain of reports and paperwork for the rest of his life. As it was, the two young women did most of the work, allowing him to spend most of his time twiddling his thumbs. He often wondered how much of Starfleet policy was made by the lieutenants rather than the Admirals.

The women stared at him patiently, waiting for a reply.

"I do not believe that the Admiral would be offended by seeing meat on the menu. On the other hand, I believe he would see it as a sign of respect if there was not. Why not, instead, simply serve Vulcan cuisine. It is vegetarian, but no one would see it as excluding meat for the sake of excluding it. I could do with a good _plomeek_ soup, anyhow." He could see his poor attempt at humour failed.

They both recorded the suggestion on the PADD, ignoring his last comment. They went back to quietly arguing about what Vulcan dishes to put on the menu, and what order to serve them in. Picard rolled his eyes. He was quite sure that he could not show up one day, send Data's cat Spot in his place, and no one would notice a difference in the way business was conducted.

"Coming out of warp in forty-five seconds, sir."

The _Enterprise_ glided gracefully out of warp, and Picard instinctively ducked in his chair at what splayed on the viewscreen, debris littering the system.

"Receiving a hail, Captain. It is Admiral Erod."

"On screen."

The stern face of the Vulcan filled the screen.

"It is well that you are here, _Enterprise._ Many in the fleet will see your arrival as a heartening sign." His voice, carefully measured, could not completely hide a hint of weariness, a tone of distress.

"We come to serve, Admiral." Picard bowed his head slightly.

The face on the screen betrayed its surprise by the raising of the right eyebrow, ever so subtly.

"Your service honours us, as does your respect."

"We have planned a reception aboard the _Enterprise_, Admiral. Would you, in turn, do us the honour of attending?"

The Vulcan, for his part, inclined his own head. "It shall be so. Erod out."

Picard let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. He had always held a great respect for the Vulcans ever since his first real encounter with them, as a young lieutenant, at Ambassador Spock's betrothal to Saavik many years ago. Later, he had the opportunity to be of service to Sarek of Vulcan, lending him his mental strength when the venerable man's own had flagged.

The joining of his mind with two of the most famed Vulcans to ever have served the Federation had changed him in ways he still could not comprehend, experiences which still reverberated within him.

"Captain, please have a signal sent to all the ships in the fleet. Inform them of the time."

"Aye, sir." Data nodded to the Tactical Officer, and the order was carried out.

Picard had hated putting on his captain's dress uniform. The Admiral's version was, if such a thing was even possible, even worse. His collar, which he obstinately maintained had not changed in size since his academy days, was always too tight around his neck, giving him the impression of being garrotted by whomever was unlucky enough to aid him in the task of putting it on. Beverly had been that person for many years, and she took it as her sacred duty to make it fit, no matter what.

"If you stopped squirming like a little boy, it might not hurt as much."

"If you stopped tightening it like a damned hangman, it might not hurt as much, either."

She smiled at his mood, purposely sour to maintain his tradition of hating formal events. The collar finally in place, she smoothed the material of his uniform with her hands, making sure it fit as it should.

_And does it ever._

She had opted, instead of her formal uniform, to wear simply a dress instead. Of pale green silk it was made and set off her blue eyes and red hair as well as anything she had ever worn.

Walking into his quarters to assist him with his collar, she had offhandedly remarked, in answer to his statement of wonder at how she looked, that she had just 'thrown herself together.' In truth, she had taken time and care to look like this, for him as well as for herself. As a Starfleet officer, opportunities to take more than a perfunctory interest in her looks were rare, and therefore to be treasured. She would not consider herself overly absorbed in her physical appearance, but, on occasion, she enjoyed pampering herself with manicures and pedicures. She had gone to the holodeck that afternoon to get both done.

And, without boasting, she knew she cleaned up _well_.

"Ready, Beverly?"

"Ready, Jean-Luc."

Walking arm in arm towards Ten-Forward, they made for a very attractive couple.

"On behalf of the 132nd Fleet, I would like to thank Admiral Picard and Captain Data of the _Enterprise_ for hosting this reception. Too often is the psychological need for diversion and relaxation neglected during times of crisis or war, and I am reminded of Surak's teachings: 'A mind on a dark road will often lose its way.' Few paths are darker than war, but it is through the sharing of a meal amongst companions, or a simple act of camaraderie between friends that we may light our way during these troubled times. Therefore, I offer a toast, to the valiant crew of the starship _Enterprise_: May the light you carry with you always be carried to where it is needed most."

The room was silent as the toast was drunk, the sincerity of the words almost painful to the officers to whom it was directed. Officers looked to one another and to the old Vulcan, silent in their thanks for the kind words gladly received. It was easy to forget that the Vulcans, often so coldly logical, were also some of the most accomplished poets and playwrights in the galaxy.

Everyone was looking to Picard for a response, and he had to clear his throat before he was able to find his voice.

"On behalf of the _Enterprise_ and her crew, I thank you, all of you, for your dedication to the ideals and peoples of this great Federation to which we all belong. We have been tested many times by those who wished to see the spark of our truth extinguished by fear, the flame of our reason smothered by hatred. But that flame cannot, and will not, be put out by the hatred of those who are jealous, nor the spark die through fear of those who do not understand us. Each of us pledged to guard them with our lives, and we here are not alone. Billions stand, indefatigable and implacable in resolve, as a bulwark against that calamity. The words of the Earth poet Longfellow ring as true today as they did five centuries ago:

'thus at the flaming forge of life,

our fortunes must be wrought;

thus on its sounding anvil shaped

each burning deed and thought.'

We forge a future free from that fear and hatred. May its consummation be sooner rather than later."

The response made, a rumble arose in the room, as officers of all ranks and ages raised their voices together in agreement and affirmation of all that had been said by the two admirals. Picard crossed to Erod, and the Vulcan surprised him by offering his hand. Picard shook it warmly, honoured by the action.

"Admiral Picard, you are a gifted orator. Your words were well chosen, and well received by those here, myself included."

"You do me a great honour, sir. Your own humbled us."

The rest of the reception was a pleasant affair; Picard delighted at having the chance to meet with so many distinguished officers, many of whom he was with at the academy. He spied Beverly moving amongst the assembled officer, who were largely command officers rather than science or medical. She was, by his estimation, making herself highly agreeable to those with whom she spoke, and not for the first time did he feel a sense of wonder at how so beautiful and accomplished a woman as she could find him the least bit interesting.

Beverly moved her way through the crowd, laughing freely with men and women whom she had never met. Sneaking furtive glances at Jean-Luc Picard, she espied him amongst a large gaggle of younger officers, all listening attentively to what he was saying. As a group, they laughed at what she assumed to be a humorous anecdote, and wryly wondered whether or not the joke was actually funny, or they were simply trying to brown-nose the Admiral. Either way, Jean-Luc looked to be having a marvellous time, and that only served to widen her smile.

Bellia Korax and Rachel Yerla, standing close by their Admiral, took to observing those around them, and making mental connections between faces and names. They noticed a small ensign making his way through the room, painfully aware of his lowly rank. Watching as he moved to the side of Admiral Erod, and hand him a PADD, he stole nervous glances at those around him, relieved that few seem to have even noticed him. The Admiral quickly read the contents of the screen, and began searching the room, and spoke to the young officer, who promptly started making his way toward Picard. Rachel moved to meet him halfway.

"Is that for Admiral Picard?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"I'll take it from here." Accepting the slate from him, she turned back, and forced her way through the wall of red.

Running an eye over the contents, her face blanched. She handed it to Bellia, who expression did much the same.

"Admiral, you need to see this."

"What? Right." He took the information from her hands, and read it. His expression hardened, but that was the only visible sign of distress. He excused himself politely from his admirers, and strode towards Erod. Bellia and Rachel caught Beverly's eyes, and she knew something was wrong.

The two men dropped into quiet conversation, and an agreement was reached to which Picard nodded his head.

Erod stood up to the podium, and addressed Stafleet's finest.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The sigma-five-five sensor net has detected a fleet of forty seven M'loi ships en route to the Utari system. They will arrive within six hours. Please return to your ships, and more detailed orders will be transmitted to you before 1930 hours. Dismissed."

There was a general buzz in the room as captains were marshalling the officers from their own ship together for the return. Men and women were offering each other final shows of solidarity and strength before filing out of the reception room. Picard asked Data if he would call together a meeting of his senior staff, and the android nodded, tapping his combadge while he walked back to the bridge, signalling those heads of departments that had not attended the gathering.

"Jean-Luc?" Beverly's voice was quiet.

"Yes, Beverly? There will be a staff briefing shortly after 1930. Hopefully we will be able-"

"Jean-Luc, I only say thirty two officers of captain's rank here tonight. Were there some that could not make it?"

"No? I don't believe anyone missed this." Picard smiled at her. "I doubt if their doctors and ships counsellors would let them get away with missing this opportunity to relax a bit. I know neither of mine would have..."

Her eyes did not smile at his joke. "Jean-Luc, thirty two captains means thirty two ships."

Picard nodded sombrely. "Yes, it does. The odds do seemed stack against us, don't they? I suspect that at least some of those sensor contacts were ghosts. The sigma-five-five sensor net has been having troubles lately, so the actual number might be much lower."

"Or higher?"

Picard frowned and nodded, no saying a word.

She squeezed his arm silently, sharing the last final measure of strength left to them.

Tearing her eyes from his, she moved away.

Preparations needed to be made in sickbay to make the inevitable deluge of wounded and dying heroes feel some last, final comforts. The thought made her stomach churn.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Author's Note: The format of this chapter will be a little different from my traditional style. It was a suggestion from a friend, and I'd really love feedback as to how it came across. I had huge trouble writing the battle sequence so that it would retain the same flavour, so I tried this.

"Data, will you walk with me, please?"

"Certainly, Admiral."

The two men walked through the hallways. Picard told his flag lieutenants to get some rest before the coming fight, and knew that he should do the same. Beverly was in her quarters, catching the last few hours of sleep. He had let himself in to look at her before the M'loi showed up, and he had been moved at how calm she looked, peaceful. He wanted to undress, and sleep beside her, but he didn't want to wake her. It would be cruel to force her back into this world, so full of sorrow.

"Was there something you wanted, Admiral?"

Picard looked at his flag captain, and smiled. Data was a rock, a tower of strength for all who knew him.

"It is a tradition for a Master and Commander to tour his ship before a battle. Guinan once reminded me that it was supposed to happen before a hopeless fight, but we ended up winning that one, Data, but it was a near run thing."

"To which battle are you referring to, sir?"

"The Borg, right before Wolf 359. I- we didn't win Wolf 359, but we did win against the Borg. And if we can beat them, we should be able to beat the M'loi."

Data nodded. He knew that the Admiral's logic was flawed in this case, but he knew better than to point it out. They walked a while longer, observing the preparations that were being made by all of the departments of the ship. Walking by stellar cartography, Picard looked in. It had been converted to a secondary armoury.

_I miss exploration._

Data and he passed many officers, who saluted their commanding officers smartly before rushing off to attend to their duties.

"Sir, if I may. Why are you choosing to spend these hours on tour, with me, instead of with Doctor Crusher?"

Picard was silent for a minutes, egging Captain Data to continue.

"I have observed that a larger percentage of the crew enter into romantic relationships during time of crisis. There is often a sense of urgency to intimacy when faced with danger, and many people find this to be both an arousing and relationship building experience, the ability to share hardship. I am curious as to why you and Doctor Crusher are not also availing yourselves of each others company."

Picard smiled. Data could be indelicate at times. "I- well. Data, it is because I am- she knows me too well, Data."

His head cocked to the side. "I did not know that was a detracting factor from a relationship, sir."

Picard was obliged to explain to him how a certain amount of anonymity in a relationship was not necessarily a bad thing, a small amount of mystery, to assert yourself as individuals in a relationship.

And, in a quiet voice, he admitted to Data the real reason. "I...don't want her to see how worried I am."

"This is not the most dangerous fight you have been in, sir. The Dominion War was-"

"I know, Data, it's irrational. I know that she knows that I'm worried. Everyone on the ship is worried. But, in some ways, it is very different when one is in a relationship to show the other that you have, well, weaknesses. One wishes to appear strong in the face of adversity."

"But knowing that she knows that you are worried, has not that wish already gone unfulfilled?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, Data. But it really isn't that simple. People want to avoid both the appearance of being weak, which I suppose failed. But also having to confront that weakness by...well, talking about it."

"Sir, is this conversation difficult for you, then?"

Picard sighed. "No, Data, it's...Data, how did this tour bring us to right in front of Doctor Crusher's quarters? We passed that deck half an hour ago, sir."

"Perhaps we experienced a spatial anomaly, sir." Data's face was perfectly stony. Comically so.

Picard laughed at his friend. "You're a wise man, my dear Data. But an awful liar." He looked at the door with almost affection in his eyes.

"How long until the M'loi arrive?"

"One hour and eighteen minutes, sir."

Picard smiled, and opened the door.

"I shall see you on the bridge, Admiral."

"Sir, sensors are detecting ships coming out of warp."

"How many, Lieutenant?"

"Uh, sir? There must be some mistake. I am picking up _sixty three_ separate warp signatures."

"Check again, Lieutenant."

"Sixty three, Captain. The _Yosemite_ and _Ghanna_ have confirmed."

Data turned his gaze from the screen to the men and women who looked to him for leadership and support.

"Red alert. All hands to battlestations."

_Once more unto the breech, dear friends._

The klaxons blared through the ship, sending seven hundred people to various parts of the ship, like a colony of ants disturbed by the attentions of a young boy.

Picard sat himself in the Admiral's Chair, and brought up the tactical display on his screen. Erod had given him six other ships to form around _Enterprise_, and he was to keep any M'loi from circumventing the main fleet and attacking the shipyards directly. With more than sixty ships, however, it would not be an easy task.

"Advise the _Zhukov, Haig_, and _Haremma _to form up. They are to focus their fire on any of the smaller ships that engage us. _Enterprise, Yosemite,_ and _Ghanna_ will keep our attentions on the cruisers and battleships that come our way. If they get into trouble, tell them to hold the course, and stay in formation. If the battle goes ill, it would not do any good to fall back to the shipyards."

"Aye, Admiral."

"_Haig_ is reporting thirty eight dead, and their aft and starboard phaser banks have burned- Sir, the _Haig _has been destroyed."

_"__Evasive patter Kirk-epsilon, get us out of here Mr. Jlha!"_

_"Sir, helm is not responding."_

_"All of you – get to the escape pods." "This is Captain Khaul, all hands abandon ship!"_

_"Sir, we're losing containment-"_

The USS Everest, and the six hundred and sixty three lives on board lit up like the heart of the sun, a brilliant flash that lasted but a fraction of a moment, and then died, dark and cold, in the silence of space.

Picard watched the screen intently.

"Captain, there is a group of twelve ships breaking away from the main fleet and heading towards the shipyards. Plot a pursuit course, and target the lead ship, if you please." "Lieutenants, please signal the five other ships in our squadron to form up on us. They are to fire at will."

_"Admiral Erod, Sydney and Bangkok have reported that most of their weapon systems have been knocked out, Swiftsure is drifting, and Potemkin, Haig, Everest, T'lan,Concord, Waterloo, Shran, and Wadjet have been destroyed."_

_"Status of the M'loi, Lieutenant?"_

_"Ten ships disabled, fifteen destroyed, sir. Thirty eight remain operational."_

_Erod nodded. _The mathematics of defeat _he thought silently to himself._

_"Carry on, Lieutenant."_

"Commander, we're having a difficult time keeping the forward shields powered enough. The EPS conduits on decks seventeen and eighteen are fused, it looks like. The entire area is flooded with gamma radiation."

"Send Leggs and Bowlman to fix it." Barclay knew he might be sending the two men to their deaths, but if the shields failed, they'd all be dead.

"Aye, sir."

"Captain Data, Admiral Erod's ship has been critically damaged. Sensors cannot penetrate the radiation enough to detect any lifeforms."

Data looked to the sole remaining Admiral in the fleet, who was on his bridge. Nodding to the tactical officer to open a subspace channel, Picard sighed.

"This is Picard. I am taking command of the fleet. Move to grid a-eight-one and form up on the _Enterprise_."

The remaining ships moved to the flanks of the majestic _Sovereign-_class vessel, and stationed themselves for their final fight. The M'loi ships took the opportunity to reform on their own flagships, and the two great fleets stared at each other from across space, determination to see the others demise creating an almost tangible link. Picard looked about him at the ships now preparing for their last stand, and he couldn't help but smile.

_When the fall is all that is left, it matters a great deal._

"Mr. Barclay. What is the status of those shield?"

"_They are at 42%, Captain. That is as good as they'll be able to get until I can get into the projectors themselves, but they're just too hot right now. Unless you want to blow out a good portion of the power grid._"

"Understood."

"Captain, the M'loi fleet has begun to move on us."

Data looked to Picard, who grimly smiled, and addressed the bridge.

"This is it, _Enterprise. _Hold fast."

"Alyssa! I need 12cc's acytylecholine on biobed 4."

The casualties had mounted, and now the primary sickbay was entirely full with those requiring medical attention. What frightened Beverly was that these were the _after_ triage patients. Everyone in her sickbay would be dead within an hour if she or one of the other doctors could not get to them in time.

Sweat poured from her as the pressure mounted. Thirty two of her fellow crew members were on death's door, and another fifteen had passed the threshold already.

"Alyssa! Now!"

Lieutenant Ogawa ran over to the doctor with the hypospray, and the hiss of the instrument passed the chemicals into the injured woman stretched out on the biobed. The life monitors were blaring, and Crusher's hands were flying over the biobed controls, trying to keep up with the multisystem failures that this poor young woman's body was experiencing. It was, Crusher knew, a losing battle. Most of her systems were shutting down to massive damage sustained during a fall from an engineering catwalk after a plasma discharge.

"Fuck!" Crusher rarely, if ever, swore in public. Alyssa Ogawa tactfully ignored it.

"Computer...time of death, 2142 hours. Cause: Utter stupidity and war." Beverly sighed as Ogawa gave her a sharp look. "Computer, cause: multi organ failure due to concussive trauma and synaptic overload."

"Next patient." Beverly felt as though she was on a horrifyingly macabre production line, and the only thing that seemed to come off it these days were corpses.

_One day, it'll be that someone I won't be able to live without. And then what will I do?_

"Sir, torpedoes incoming!"

"Evasive manoeuvres, Mr. Richards."

The young helmsman did what he could, but half a dozen torpedo hits rocked the _Enterprise_, causing the lights to blow out all over the ship. Hallways, corridors, rooms, and people were not bathes in the harsh red light of the warning system. Consoles exploded all over the bridge from the power surge, causing men and women to throw up their arms in defence of their faces. Coiled wiring and the stench of burnt out bio-neural gel packs pervaded the normally pristine nerve centre of the ship.

"Mr. Richards, take about on course 224 mark 145."

"Mr. Richards?"

A large piece of metal had embedded itself in the young man's neck, and his blood was slick on the surface of the control panel and floor about him. The ops officer beside him vomited at the sight.

Data turned to Picard. "Sir, I shall take helm if you take command of the _Enterprise._"

Picard hesitated, and then quickly shook his head. "No, Data. You're the captain. I'll take helm. You, there, help me move Mr. Richards."

Pushing the corpse of the human unceremoniously out of the way, Picard sat down at the console. Quickly re-familiarising himself with the lay out, he proceeded to put in the course Data had requested.

"We have three M'loi attack cruisers on our aft, sir. They'll be in optimal firing distance in ten seconds."

"Please bring us about, sir."

Picard smiled at the situation. He knew that Data's emotion chip would be sending him signals of being uncomfortable. It was not everyday that you gave orders to an Admiral. Taking the _Enterprise _into a banking turn, he shunted off drive plasma from the starboard nacelle in order to achieve the needed angle, and managed to put _Enterprise's_ forward shields in the way of the hits. Bright pulses of energy flew from the crux of the ship, and two of the M'loi cruisers erupted in purple flame from the impacts of the Starfleet torpedoes.

_I may be old, but I still know how to show a lady like the _Enterprise_ a good time._

"Helm, heading 118 mark 0. Bring us up under that battleship. Tactical, prepare to fire all forward weapons arrays."

"This is Picard to the _Jinzai _and _Harrier._ Form up with _Enterprise_ and focus fire on the battleship ahead. Target their aft plasma reactor." His flag lieutenants relayed coordinates and tactical information to the captains.

Acknowledgements came from the two smaller ships, and the tactical display showed them both moving into position.

"Captain, the _Jinzai_ has just lost her forward shields."

"Extend our own around them." "Mr. Barclay, reroute all power from everything but lifesupport, engines, and weapons to the forward shield arrays." Picard was please, the order he would have given being brought about without him. Data had been a great choice.

"_Sir, the conduits are fused. I've just sent two people up to fix it, but they won't be done for at least another five or ten minutes. That much power will blow the whole power system on that deck, and kill the two engineers. Can we hold off for a few-_"

"That is an order, Mr. Barclay. Carry it out."

"_Aye, sir._"

A moment later, shield displays showed 88% strength on the forward shields, but that would be heavily taxed taking care of two ships.

"Take us in, Admiral."

In the end, a half dozen more Federation ships were added to the list of vessels that would never return. Close to fifteen thousand officers and crew perished in defence of the Utari system, and Admiral Erod himself had been found, still on the bridge of his flagship, strapped into his command chair, killed by the intense radiation of the M'loi weapons.

It had been a damned close thing. _Enterprise_ herself suffered multiple hull breeches, and the crew of seven hundred had lost over a quarter of its number in casualties and fatalities, with an additional two hundred of the MACOs aboard perishing. Bellia Korax herself had been severely injured at the close of the battle when one of the smaller M'loi vessels collided with the _Enterprise_, causing the young lieutenant to pitch head first into one of the bulkheads on the bridge. Picard knew that casualties aboard all of the remaining ships would be similar, if not more severe.

Damages to the ships of the fleet had been catastrophic. The _Enterprise_ itself had been rammed, causing severe damage to the port nacelle and engineering section. The _Orpheus_ had lost most of its saucer section on the port, and was being held together by forcefields, and the ingenuity of its Chief Engineer. The _H'lagh_ had been forced to separate its battle section, and the immense saucer of the once proud _Galaxy_-class vessel lay, burning and dead, in the void.

Not a single ship was left at full operation. Not a single ship was ready if the M'loi should attack again.

The 132nd had been gutted brutally. Many of the crews of the ships destroyed had been fresh from the academy, or had been new volunteers to help with the war effort.

However, Picard felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of pride and honour for those fresh faced young officers and crew of the fleet. They could have ran, they could have given up, but, in the face of overwhelming odds, they had done the duty their Federation and their captains had required of them. Laughing in the face of Death, with his carrion grin about to devour them into oblivion, they had died standing, holding the line, and purchased victory with their own lives.

Remembering a line from long ago, he offered a silent toast to them from the bottom of his soul:

_The victorious dead._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long! I rewrote it about a dozen or more times before I was even partially satisfied with it.

Picard made his weary way towards his office. He had spent the better part of the afternoon in sickbay, helping to attend to the wounded, and generally making his presence be known to the men and women there. Bellia was resting comfortably, with Rachel by her side. Picard had spent over an hour at that bed, talking with Bellia who was under the influence of powerful painkillers and suppressants. His heart nearly stopped when she had awoken, blood flooding her normally violet eyes.

_"It hurts." _is all she had managed to say, before closing her eyes. She probably didn't even register it was him.

Picard hadn't know what to do, and had simply taken her hands into his, and held them tightly, feeling helpless and stupid for not being able to help more.

Now, he was on his was to do the thing he most loathed. Sitting down at his desk, he called into the empty room.

"Computer, begin dictation."

The beep confirmed that the computer had registered his request.

_"Mrs. Udali, it is my sad duty to inform you that your husband was killed in the line of duty yesterday, on May 24, 2384. It is, perhaps, not a comfort at this time, but please know that he died to save his comrades and friends._

_Lieutenant Beraz Udali went into a heavily radioactive compartment in search of those who had become trapped by the collapse of one of the bulkheads. Getting twelve of the fourteen men and women out by guiding them, he went back in to search for the remaining two. It is at that point that a plasma conduit ruptured, destroying the room. Your husband gave his life in service of others, and I hope that may give some small amount of comfort in this time of sorrow._

_He was a man of quiet strength, beloved by those who with whom he served, and looked up to by those junior officers and crewmen and women who served under him. I did not know him well, but I am told by those who knew him that you and your sons were constantly in his thoughts and heart._

_I wish to extend to you the heartfelt sympathies of everyone on the _Enterprise_, and indeed the 132__nd__ fleet. In particular, the dozen whom he saved will be enclosing special letters of thanks with this communique._

_If there is anything I can do for you, or your family, at this time, please, don't hesitate to contact me."_

It was with disgust that Picard finished all of the reports. So many had died in yesterday's battle that he was forced to use the formulaic bereavement message, a sterile piece, devoid of the humanity, the emotion, and the sorrow which he felt yesterday's action deserved. He knew that the news of a victory, however hard won, would be trumpeted throughout the Federation, and by this time next week, his name would be in discussions from Earth to Romulus.

The final butchers bill of the engagement was over two hundred dead, from a crew of seven hundred. A further three hundred MACOs were killed, but Major Harris would be dealing with that.

_Thank goodness._

"Come."

The doors opened quietly, and in strode Doctor Beverly Crusher, looking exhausted, but grimly happy.

"Bellia will be all right. She had sustained massive internal bleeding in her head from the blow, but I've managed to drain most of it off. She's in stable condition, and I expect her to be recovered enough by tomorrow to move into her own room."

"Beverly, she has no room left, I'm afraid. Decks 5 through 8 were almost entirely destroyed. She and Rachel will have to find alternate arrangements for living, as will most of the surviving crew, including you."

"Deck 3?"

"Much of the port side was obliterated from a EPS blowout during the final few moments. You'll have to stay with me, I guess."

Beverly smiled wearily. "You blew those conduits on purpose, didn't you? Crafty man."

He smiled in turn. "Of course not. I would have blown the starboard side first. I prefer staying at your place, but there you go, unlucky in war."

"Bellia and Rachel will have to stay with you, too, Jean-Luc. Better to bunk with people you like than a random assignment."

Picard paused and frowned at this. One woman living with him – well, that would be a change. Three? That would almost certainly be a nightmare.

_Ours is not to reason why..._

"Uh, the three of you?"

"You do have a spare bedroom, do you not? I will, if it is _quite_ all right with you, sleep in your room, and the two can share the spare. They used to bunk together as ensigns, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem for them."

"Yes, I suppose so..."

"Good, its decided then. I'll head to the replimat to get some of the things I'll need, and a bit more for Bellia and Rachel. Bellia will be out of the sickbay tomorrow, but it'll still be some days before she'll be healthy enough for duty."

Picard sighed in contemplation of the next few days. He knew the decision was made, and that nothing he may have said could have swayed it.

"I'll help you get your things from the replimat in a few moments, I need to dispatch this report beforehand."

Informing the duty officer assigned to find alternate crew quarters that Lieutenants Korax and Yerla were to be assigned to the Admiral's room, she looked about. She ran her finger along one of the wooden panels of the desk in a mindless search for dust as she waited, watching him and his furrowed brow. She knew what he was doing, and she hated the thought of him having to write to so many people who would never see their loved one again.

She remembered what it had felt like, all those years ago, seeing this man come to her house, solemn and morose, to inform her of the death of her husband. To tell her son that he would never see his father again. And, much to her secret disgrace, the feeling of loving this man, the man who brought that terrible news, had not dimmed when he said it. She loathed to admit to herself that a part of her felt _free._ Felt able to explore the feelings she knew she had. But, instead, after that day, they had drifted apart, and it was not until her posting to the _Enterprise__D_ that she had seen him after that day.

She believed that she had gotten over him in those long years of self-imposed isolation, only occasionally drifting out into public when her biological urges got the better of her, or she had been set up on some pointless blind date by one of her friends. They had all been meaningless flings to satisfy her body, not her soul.

When the news came that Jean-Luc Picard had been named the new captain of the flagship, and was looking to fill the top level command positions on his ship, she had tentatively put her name forth. It came as a surprise when, three weeks later, she had received the message that she had been accepted, wondering if he remembered her. When she finally did come aboard, she was hurt when he told her that he would approve a transfer if she wanted it.

_Didn't he want me as a Doctor?_

She told him that she had applied for the position rather than being assigned to it, and he seemed shocked, as thought he thought she didn't feel for him any more. She never told him, of course, how she felt – after Jack's death, it just wouldn't have been proper. She was happy when, after she had returned from Starfleet Medical, their friendship blossomed into that of close confidants. And then blossomed again into...what?

"Ready to go." His arm rested on the small of her back, guiding her towards the door.

They walked in silence together, glad for the closeness after what felt like a life-age of separation. He glanced down at her hand, brushing against his, and marvelled that he should still feel such a glimmer of happiness amid all of the chaos and loss of war, and immediately felt guilty. Mr. Udali would never again feel the touch of his wife's hand on his, and Mrs. Udali would never again set eyes upon whom she had married. She wouldn't even have a body to bury, the Lieutenant's body being completely disintegrated by the heat and power of the plasma. Picard suddenly felt sick, and wish he was alone.

"Jean-Luc? What is it?"

"I- No, I'm fine, Beverly. Just the strain of the past few day, the writing of death reports. I suppose it's finally taking its toll."

"I can get everything I need myself-"

"No, Beverly, it is really all right. It would be best for me to have something to work on rather than be alone to ruminate by myself. Anyway, it would take you at least two trips to get everything you're going to need. It is much more efficient this way."

Her beautiful eyebrow arched at this, attempting to discern what was really going on, but let it drop. Over the past few weeks, she had attempted to pry less into his life than was her wont.

_I'd hate to scare him away._

Arriving in the replimat, she ordered up clothes, toiletries, and the varied and arcane things she'd need to live comfortably. She got extras of everything, knowing that the two flag lieutenants would also be staying in the Admiral's quarters. She smiled at the thought of the normally powerful man hapless amongst a trio of women, all whom knew what was best for him better than he did.

"You're going to need all of this? You know...there is a replicator in my quarters, Beverly. You can some of this stuff there."

"Jean-Luc, I know what I'm doing! Besides, moving somewhere, even for only a little while, should be accompanied by at least some pomp and circumstance. Any way, I want to make sure that Bellia at least will have everything she'll need."

Jean-Luc looked uncomfortable.

"Beverly, you should know – I've never really lived with anyone else since my days as an ensign aboard the old _Indefatigable_. And certainly not with women. It may take me a few days to get used to it all..."

Beverly flashed him a smile that shook him to the core. "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. You'll be ship shape and Bristol fashion in no time."

He smiled at the historical touch.

Picard took more than was perhaps reasonable to carry himself, but he'd be damned before he allowed Beverly to carry more than him. _A bit old fashioned, but I was raised that way._ He knew that she was more than capable, but dammit, it mattered to him.

Making it to the doors of the flag officer's quarters on deck 2 of the great ship. Located at the end of the hallway, the rooms were more than luxurious, made to accommodate a less spartan individual than the one who presently occupied it. Inside, a woman was already bustling around, and she froze when she heard the door open.

"Uh, sir. My quarters were destroyed during the battle, and I found that I had been assigned here-"

"Rachel, it's all right. I requested this bunk assignment for you. I'll be here, too." Beverly grinned at her.

"Uh, yes, Doctor. Admiral, I-"

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Calm down, I'm not going to bite you or smother you in your sleep. From what Beverly tells me, it isn't like I'd be able to win any fights against you. You've settled into your room?"

"Room, sir? I believe I will be taking the couch..."

"Nonsense. Flag officer's quarters have an extra bedroom to accommodate the aides that often travel with them. You and Lieutenant Korax will share it."

"But, sir, I thought that Doctor Crusher-"

Beverly giggled, audible despite trying to muffle herself, and both Picard and Rachel turned red. The young Lieutenant mentally kicked herself. _Of course she'll be in the Admiral's bedroom. God, I need to learn to think before speaking. _Especially_ now._

"Of course, sir. I'd be happy to take the other room."

Desperately trying to change the subject as swiftly as possible, the young woman asked "when will Lieutenant Korax be released?"

Picard took the lifeline thrown to him, Beverly ostentatiously winking at him, clearly enjoying herself.

"The _Doctor_ believes the Lieutenant will be released sometime tomorrow."

Rachel Yerla couldn't help but smile at the two senior officers. Trying to appear stern, the Admiral was clearly losing his fight to control a smile on his handsome face, and the Doctor didn't help matters by laughing at him jovially. The Lieutenant felt keenly uncomfortable at that moment, not knowing what the protocol was for an Admiral being teased by his..._girlfriend? Lover? What is she to him? And why do I feel...jealous?_ Her telepathic powers, normally only strongly attuned to touch, could sense the deep affection that both of them felt for one another, and pushed those feelings aside. She liked the doctor a lot, and was absolutely devoted to the Admiral. They were happy, and she was going to see them remain happy, no matter the cost. Beating a hasty retreat to her new room, she began laying out all of her things that she'd need, carefully putting them away into the various storage and shelf units cleverly hidden throughout the room.

Coming out of her room some minutes later, after having stowed all of her gear away, she saw that a modest dinner had been set, and that a bottle of wine had been uncorked and decanted, the label reading _Picard, 2370_. Growing up on Betazed, Rachel knew little of Earth's alcoholic beverages, but she knew that Admiral Picard's family had a vineyard of some repute. She hesitated in sitting down, until Beverly pointed to her, and then a chair.

Being served by officers so superior in rank as to be demigods was one of the most unsettling things in her life until this point.

"Wine?"

She nodded silently, not knowing what to say or do as Picard poured her a glass of the deep, red liquid. Crusher passed a basket of simple baked rolls to the young woman, as the Admiral now turned his attention to serving the stew that was for dinner.

"Maman always served this after funerals. I think I can safely say that our family on the _Enterprise_ has seen its fair share of death in the past few days."

Picard sat down opposite of Doctor Crusher at the large table, and took a roll from the basket being passed around, breaking some of Rachel's awkwardness with vintner lore.

"This vintage was an especially good one. Robert certified it as a ribbon year for the vineyard. I took only a single case of it with me after that year, and most of it was destroyed the year after when the _Enterprise D_ went down over Veridian III, making this one of the last bottles of it left."

Rachel was about to take a sip, and then froze, making Beverly chuckle.

"Rachel, you don't have to be afraid of drinking it. Jean-Luc wouldn't have served it if he didn't want it enjoyed. But savour it, experience it, it'll be like nothing you've ever tasted replicated, believe me. Over the years, I have come to appreciate the Picard label, and Jean-Luc has taught me more about wines than I ever thought there was."

Beverly looked at her as her face reddened. She had never eaten a formal meal before, and wine was not something with which she was acquainted.

"First, lift the glass, and look through it. Wines have varying colours based on what type they are, the quality, and the conditions in which the grapes were grown. Wine is meant to be a experience shared by all of your senses, not just taste. Once you have committed the colour and look to memory, form in your mind what those colours mean to you. Swirl your glass gently, releasing some of the aroma of the wine, and match the initial smell with the colour. I've always thought of wine as a painting or sculpture, with each of the individual components working to make the whole."

Rachel did as she was told. The liquid had a sweet smell to it, but there was something else behind it, a woody sort of quality, reminding her of her childhood in the forests and valleys of Ghora Regions mountains and forests. A most decidedly pleasant memory.

"Now, place your nose into the glass, and inhale deeply. This will allow you to explore the wine further, creating medium into which the painting will take place."

Rachel thought it was ridiculous to do so. Stick her nose into the glass? But she didn't want to embarrass herself, and the officers both looked serious about it.

Memories flooded back more intensely this time. _Definitely a woodsy sort of smell. And cirtus fruit? Maybe? Something else, certainly._ She took her nose from the glass, and let the breath out slowly, not wanted to let go of the feelings it had engendered.

"Let a small sip enter your mouth. Let it work its way around, over and under your tongue. Let it make its impression on you."

She took a small sip, and the liquor swam through her mouth. Her eyes closed, trying to more perfectly remember all that had come before. The colour of the wine, the smell, the memories it evoked in her. She could clearly see herself, on a dock in the middle of lake Hajaly, on Betazed. Her father, a Vulcan, was reading on the shore, and her mother was with him, laying nude beside him, as was her custom as a Betazoid. Her sister was there on the dock with her.

_It had been a wonderful week. That memory...I haven't thought about it in so long..._

Tears stung Rachel's eyes, but her lids were still closed, trying to cling to the memory. She hadn't seen her family in years. Her father had died of Oorlodian Flu only five years after that summer at the lake, and a year after that her mother and sister had been killed in a shuttle accident. The memory, happy as it was, brought up painful feelings.

"Now, take more into your mouth, roll it around slowly for a few seconds and then swallow."

She did as instructed, the memory become more clear, more crisp. Her father had been reading the latest journal on warp theory, for a conference he was scheduled to attend the week after. That afternoon was the last they would spend at that lake that year, and Rachel and her sister fought over who got to carry the picnic basket back to the flyer. Her father had eventually elected to take it, and grasped it in his strong hands. _His hands...they were always so strong, so firm. Even at the end, when his body had wasted away, they were still a thing of strength._ Tears showed through the lids now, spilling slowly down her cheek, and Crusher could see them even in the now waxing, now waning light of the candles.

"Now, think about your after impressions of the experience. Was the wine sweet? Bitter? Sour? What taste does it leave you with? Was it light-bodied, like water? Medium, like milk? Or was it full, like cream? And does it mesh with the form that the colour and smell made? That is how a wine is meant to be appreciated." She paused and smiled slightly to the man across from her.

"Jean-Luc, did I get it right?"

The Admiral was quiet, his eyes closed as well, glass in hand.

"Quite right, Beverly. Quite...right."

Rachel's eyes had also not yet opened, the haunting memory that had been brought up a powerful additive in this time of turmoil for her.

"I-I've never had something like that, not since-" she opened her eyes, almost letting a bit of a secret about her less than straight-laced youth slip.

"Since? Since when, Rachel?" Beverly eyed her.

"Uh, n-nothing, Doctor. Admiral, that was...you make this?"

Picard laughed ruefully. "No. The vineyard is under the control of Marie now, my sister-in-law. Robert and Rene, my nephew, perished in a fire a little over ten years ago. This was the last vintage that he oversaw before he...died."

Rachel looked down, wishing she hadn't said anything, but Picard smiled.

"Rachel, you've done nothing wrong. It's been a long time, and I've come to peace with it. Sharing this wine, any wine, in fact, is how I best remember my brother, and how he would have wanted to be remembered. He took so much after my father, I used to think that wine ran in his veins rather than blood."

Rachel smiled at this, and took another sip of the wine.

"Rachel, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Beverly brushed her fingers softly on Yerla's arm.

"Go ahead, Doctor."

"What were you thinking of while tasting the wine? It must have affected you greatly."

Rachel sat thoughtfully for a moment, before opening her mouth.

"It- it brought up a memory of mine. From when I was a child on Betazed. My parents used to take my sister and I to a lake every year for a week or two. My father said it helped him to concentrate on his readings, and allowed him to devote more time to logic studies, and my mother just liked to sunbathe and relax."

"Logic stu- Rachel, I never noticed the ears."

Rachel reached up to the tops of her ears, and blushed. "My father was Ralok of Vulcan."

"The warp theorist?"

"Yes, sir."

"I met him, what, twenty years ago, on Mendox Prime, I think it was. A-a seminar put on by the Daystrom Institute, if I remember correctly."

"That is likely. He used to attend the symposiums on Medox Prime regularly, until he died."

"I am sorry to hear that. He was a brilliant man."

Beverly interjected. "And her mother was a Betazoid."

"Indeed, sir."

Picard regarded her closely, "you must be powerfully telepathic, then, to have both heritages."

"Actually, I'm really only a touch telepath, sir. I can sense strong emotions and such, but can't read minds or anything like that at a distance."

"Interesting. What was it like growing up like that?"

The conversation was lightly interrogative, nothing too prying for the young woman to deal with. She began to feel at ease with her surroundings. Here, in this room, Beverly and Jean-Luc were like a friend enquiring about another. The wine continued to make her feel at ease, and after dinner, Picard passed around a decanter of another wine.

"This is not one of your family's...?"

"Oh, no. Port wine cannot be made in France. It is more a mark of location rather than type. Port wines can only be made and bottled in a certain area of Portugal, an old earth country. It was an old naval tradition to pass the port around after dinner on a ship, and I have kept that alive, so far as I am able."

"Jean-Luc, that was a Royal Navy tradition, if I remember correctly."

"Just because it isn't French doesn't mean it is bad, Beverly. It usually means it's bad, but not always." He smiled at his joke, pleased with himself.

He started as he was kicked under the table playfully by the Doctor, who laughed at the face that he made in response.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

Picard awoke with a start. _Something wasn't ri-_ Beverly lay, quiet beside him, breathing softly, and murmuring to herself in her sleep.

_That's it. Someone is in my bed. That hasn't happened in_... How long? Five, ten years?

Picard sighed quietly and got out from under the sheets. He stretched in silence, enjoying the feeling of the crisp air on his skin after being under the too-warm covers for the night.

It had been a week since Beverly and the two lieutenants had taken over his quarters. In that time, he had seemingly lost the privilege of choosing for himself what he was going to be eating, and the schedule he'd be keeping. Walking into the common room, he moved to the couch, and ordered a light to be turned on above him, providing the illumination he required to be able to read. Walking back from the replicator with a steaming cup of tea, he had been reading for around half an hour before the doors to his quarters opened, and hushed, but obviously excited voices emanated from the opened portal.

"Shhh! We don't want to wake the Admiral or the Doctor!"  
"Mmmmm, don't worry, babe. They're asleep."

"So should you be! Come on, I'll see you after my duty shift tomorrow. Good night!"

"Nu-uh! I've been waiting all day to be alone with you. Bellia is out...the room is mine tonight, and I know you want to fuck me...I can read minds, remember? Just think of everything I can do for you..."

Picard sat stock straight on the couch, willing himself not to move. He didn't want to be found there, as profoundly embarrassing as it would be for him, he couldn't imagine what Rachel would think of it.

The Admiral practically heard the young man's mind whirring as he thought of the consequences that might arise. Picard also knew what decision the male officer's mind would pick in the end.

He heard the door the lieutenants' room swish shut, and he resumed breathing, thankful that the walls on the ship were, to a large extent, sound proof. That didn't however, stop him from hearing a distinct _thunk_ as one or both of them hit a wall in the room.

_Oh, the joys of youth._

Continuing to read, he began to nod off until he heard the doors to the quarters open again, and heard who he assumed to be Bellia Korax walk into the now rather over populated quarters.

"Bellia?" He asked softly.

"Sir? What are you doing still awake? It's 0200!"

He motioned for her to keep it down. "I sometimes find myself to be restless, and find that reading a good book often helps. What the devil are you doing up? Doctor Crusher was quite explicit in telling you that you need rest after your injuries."

"Yes, sir. But there were a few reports that I wanted to finish before heading to bed and...well, I fell asleep in the Observation Lounge, to tell the truth. I've finished the reports, though, and they are on your desk for in the morning. Now, if you don't need anything else-"

"Uh, you...can't go to bed yet, I don't think."

Bellia paused, and wrinkled her brow.

"Did you need anything, sir?"

"No, but Rachel is, uh, entertaining someone in your quarters, I believe." Picard felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"She is entertaining...? I don't- oh. I see. Uh, I see." Bellia turned a rosy shade of red on her neck, and fidgeted with her fingers.

"I'm not sure where you ought to go. I suppose if you wanted, you could use my room. I'm due to be on the bridge in four hours at any rate, and likely won't be getting much more sleep tonight. Bev- Doctor Crusher is..." The Admiral turned a shade to match the young lieutenant's, and was glad that the lights were low enough in the room to make it difficult to make out. "...also availing herself of the bed in _that_ room as well." He hadn't wanted to say that Beverly Crusher was in _his_ bed.

_Jean-Luc, they know. Just get over yourself._

Picard hadn't thought of problems like this one when he had agreed to Beverly's plan a week ago.

"Um, yes, sir. That would likely be best, I'll just go...get...changed." She looked to the room that she was sharing, and recalled that this problem arose because she couldn't, in decency, go in there. "You know what? I'll just sleep in my uniform, if that's all right."

Picard nodded, and went back to his reading, eager to forget the awkwardness, and hoped that Bellia would have the good grace not to mention any of this to anyone else.

_Least of all to that Crusher woman. She'd laugh at me harder than anyone. _A smile stretched its way across his mouth thinking of her laying in his bed, probably sprawled out across three quarters of the surface. The first night had been difficult for him. She had said that she would keep to herself, knowing that neither of them wanted to progress to a fully sexual relationship too quickly.

However, much to his rational dismay and secret delight, it had not taken long after she had fallen asleep before she had draped herself over him, the very modest pyjamas that both of them purposefully wore being displaced by the awkward angles that the good Doctor had placed herself in. He lay awake for most of that night drinking in the smell and feel of her, while she lay, totally oblivious to his adoration, drooling slightly on his chest and talking quietly to herself about inanities.

_It doesn't matter how dignified or stern you are when you are awake. When you sleep, everyone reverts to being a baby._

He had gotten out of bed early that night so that the awkwardness of being in a bed with a woman for the first time could be dispensed with. But the second night, he had fallen asleep despite trying to stay awake again for the same reasons. He had woken a very short time before Beverly, and they had lain in bed together, silent, for a few moments before both had attempted to talk at once.

_"__Beverly?"_

_"__Yes, Jean-Luc?"_

_"__This isn't too awkward for you, is it? I can request another bed, if you wish."_

_"__That – that might be best, Jean-Luc. If it is awkward for you."_

That night, he had come back to the quarters from a very long, and very negative briefing with some of Starfleet's top brass. He had entirely forgotten to requisition another bed, and it was already 2330 ship's time. He had crawled into bed, and woken up to the same ritual, only this time Beverly had smiled when he said he would requisition another bed.

This had occurred every morning since, each time, both of them knew that it was nothing more than a waking ritual, and one that both of them looked perversely forward to. Picard knew he did – it meant that he had slept another night in the same bed as the woman of his fantasies.

Momentarily caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't hear the movement coming out of the bedroom that, up until only a few days ago, he had been proud to call his own.

"Jean-Luc? Why are you up right now?" Beverly looked magnificent with her hair fresh from _his_ bed.

"I couldn't sleep, Beverly. Sometimes I just need to read to become composed for sleep, but tonight it doesn't seem to be working. Did Lieutenant Korax wake you?"

"Yes, Bellia did. Seems that she can't sleep in her own room, but I must confess that I was still partially asleep when she gave me the reasons. I only woke up fully when I thought about her climbing into our bed."

_Our bed? I do like the sound of that._ Picard's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"It seems that Lieutenant Yerla has a guest for the evening, and was not expecting Lieutenant Korax to return tonight. I thought it best to stop her from entering her own room..."

Beverly sniggered softy. "You probably acted for the best. I'm sure that would have been greatly embarrassing for them, the young man in particular. Being caught _in flagrate delicto_ by his admiral would cause any officer to wish he could melt into the bulkhead. Although, I would be delighted to be here when it happened."

"I can imagine, and your Latin is improving. Have you been studying?"

"Not really," she sheepishly looked at him, "but the phrase was in a play I was reading for."

"Well, the usage was colloquial, but I'll accept it."

"What does it actually mean?"

Picard put on his best academic face. "'In blazing offence.' It's usually reserved for describing being caught in the act of perpetrating a crime."

"Well, unless that man that Rachel has in there is awfully young, I can't see that being the case, strictly."

"Indeed, not. Can I get you something? I feel awful for waking you."

"You didn't, Bellia did. And yes, a small glass of something smooth and warm, if you please."

The Admiral rose and walked to the replicator, and ordered himself a small snifter of Brandy, and his companion the same, and returned to sit on the couch next to her, the intoxicating scent of her filling his lungs.

"What is it, Jean-Luc? What is on your mind that is keeping you from bed?" Her voice was filled with concern for him.

"I- I'd prefer you not to ask, Beverly."

"Jean-Luc, if it's something about...us, I'll understand. I know that living with someone can make people see a different side of her, and I can be difficul-"

"What? No, it certainly isn't that. It's been an absolute pleasure having you here, and the two lieutenants as well. It is nice to come home to people. No, it's..." He hesitated, not wanting to worry her too much.

"Well, so it isn't about us?" He shook his head.

"Is it about...the ship? Is something wrong with the ship?" Again, a shake of his head indicated a negative.

"Family? Has something happened on Earth?" Another shake of the head.

"The war?" No movement.

"It's the war, then?" A small nod.

Beverly bit her lip. "We've...won?"

Picard smiled at her attempt at gallows humour, but shook his head sadly. He finally opened his mouth.

"Beverly, Starfleet Command is showing a large increase in M'loi activity. Sectors that were once thought safe are coming under attack. Planets and installations are being raided. We just don't have the ships or the personnel to defend them all. We're...bleeding, for lack of a better term. Things aren't as bad as they got during the Dominion War yet, but..."

"They're getting there?" Beverly's eyes momentarily flashed with fear.

"Yes."

The two sat in silence, each thinking of those dark days during the fight for the survival of the Federation. Beverly curled into the crook of his arm and body, and shivered slightly.

"Can we win?" She had dropped to a whisper.

Picard paused before answering. His voice was heavy.

"I- yes, we can. I know we can, but not if the present situation continues. Starfleet has been dithering on strategy for the past few months, and its lead to huge losses in the fleet. We can win – but unless something changes, there isn't going to be much of a Federation left to win for."

Beverly's heart sank. She knew the situation was bad, but for someone like Jean-Luc to say something like that – it frightened her. She shook.

"Jean-Luc? Tell me a story."

Picard craned his neck to look at her curled in his arms. _A story?_

"A story?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just realised how childish that sounded. I guess- well, I'm a little scared. Not of the dark, no, of the future. Thing's seemed so clear after the Dominion War. The Federation was back on top – now it doesn't seem that way any more. I guess I'm just looking for some comfort."

"I – I know how you feel. But strength lies with hope, Beverly."

They sat, quiet, for a while, before Jean-Luc spoke up once again.

"A long time ago, at a small village of the old Earth nation of Pakistan called Saragarhi, twenty-one soldiers of one of Earth's old empires fought against ten thousand soldiers of their Empire's foes, by choice. Before the battle, their officer gave each one a chance to run, which they all declined."

Seconds drew into minutes as Picard described the action as it was fought as best he could from memory. The twenty-one fought for an entire day before being killed to the last man. It had delayed the enemies of the empire long enough for reinforcements to arrive in the area, and the war was soon over, victory going to those brave men's side.

"In the end, their deaths were lauded around the world, even making it to the attention of the Empress of their nation. Their deaths were remembered in their homeland for centuries, being marked as a day of celebration and remembrance. They were honoured for their devotion and their bravery."

"Is that what you want, Jean-Luc? To die a hero and be remembered for it?"

He shook his head emphatically.

"No. I don't want to die, or even be remembered as a hero. What I'd like is to live well into my retirement, to be invited to the annual Starfleet Ball, and to have you to dance with when I get there. That is what I want, enough said; end of story."

Beverly smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

"You are an odd man, Jean-Luc Picard. A loveable, adorable, kissable, hugable, wonderful man. But an odd one, nonetheless. Most other men and women who make it to the Captain's chair want to go down as a hero, fighting the good fight."

"Well, I don't know if any of them have such an insistent reason to live. Like you'd ever let me die – who the hell would you make fun of all the time? I don't think anyone else in the fleet could take the punishment you give out when you're in a foul mood!"

She grinned a Cheshire grin and jabbed an elbow into his ribs, making him groan and wince, eliciting a giggle from the Doctor, who laid back into his arms.

"And don't you forget that, Admiral."

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the young lieutenants' room drew aside to spill light into the sitting area. Picard was reading a book, and the doctor was on the couch opposite him, thumbing through a PADD. Both looked up at the door to see two people standing there, holding hands and kissing slightly. Crusher cleared her throat quietly, but loudly enough for the amorous young officers to break apart, and look aghast.

"You see, Admiral. The junior officers just don't have the same respect for their superiors that we did back in our days."

"It seems not, Doctor. Fraternising, indeed." The Admiral arched his eyebrow sagely, and returned his attention to his book, not wanting to embarrass the young man and woman any more than was sensible. It took much of his control not to let a smile slip onto his lips as he heard the profuse apologies of the young man, and the rushed farewells.

Beverly laughed out loud after the door had closed, and was almost in tears by the time Rachel came back to the common area. The unfortunate young woman's face was alight with the fires of embarrassment and she stammered her apologies in much the same fashion as the young man had only moments before.

"Rachel, don't worry! It was only a bit of fun at your expense, I hope you'll forgive us?" Beverly managed to keep her laughter under check as she gave her own apology, and Rachel, still mortified, only gave a small nod as her assent to this before quickly turning away and rushing back into the bedroom, citing the need for sleep for her hasty departure. Both of the older officers chuckled at the situation.

"You know, Jean-Luc, – there is a young, attractive woman in your bed who adores you like a god. Why the hell are you out here?"

"Because you're out here."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

"...and so, sir, the _Jemaal_ won't be battle ready for at least another three weeks." Captain Braxton looked unhappy about giving a negative report to his superior – especially when that superior was Picard.

Picard kept his eyes down, looking at the information PADD in front of him. The man was right, however annoying to the Admiral that may be. When Picard was a captain, he hated when his superiors would pester him about readiness reports. Now that he was a flag officer himself, he was irked when one of his ships, especially a powerful ship like the _Intrepid_-class cruiser _Jemaal_, remained out of service. It was unlikely that it would be spaceworthy any time soon, and as the 132nd was moving out, they could not leave it for the M'loi to study.

"Very well, Captain. I am officially recommending that you scuttle the _Jemaal_. I will make note of that in my Lost Ship report to the Admiralty. Your remaining crew will transfer to the _Enterprise_. You, yourself, will take command of the _Hex_."

"Understood, sir."

Picard looked back down at his reports. That was the fourth ship to be irreparable before the move. Only ten ships remained to the Admiral, and all of them we overpopulated now.

"Sir," Lieutenant Yerla turned to him, "Colonel Harris wishes to speak to you."

Picard's face brightened. Nathan Harris was a competent and efficient man, as well as being likeable and well respected by those who knew him. This would not be a frivolous meeting.

"Of course, Lieutenant. Show him in."

The MACO made his way into the room, and sat down, and looked worried.

"Sir, we have reason to believe that you may be in danger. During the last battle, we intercepted a transmission from the M'loi cruisers on our tail. I've a copy of the recording here:"

"#####-INTERC-##### FATE####ON####-AGSHIP. CAPTURE AND HO-###### DESIGNATI-####### PICARD."

The Admiral sat back and tapped his combadge. "Captain Data, can you please join me in the Observation Lounge."

"_Aye, sir._"

The two men waited in silence for the android to make his way into the room.

"Data, Colonel Harris has made be aware of a – plan, of sorts, by the M'loi to take me captive."

"I see, sir. And what are your orders on the matter."

"Well, Data, as you know, Starfleet Regulation 173 states that any command level officers who is in personal danger from an unknown source must leave all security details in another command level officer's hands. That being said, technically we know the source, but I think the spirit of the regulation comes into effect here."

"Agreed, sir."

Despite the look of nonchalance on the Admiral's face, he was, in actuality, deeply worried about this whole situation. He had no wish to die, and he especially had no wish to become the prisoner of the M'loi.

"So, Data, I will leave my security arrangements in your capable hands, unless you're too busy...?"

"Not at all, sir."

"One more thing, Captain. Let's not let this get back to Doctor Crusher. I'll tell her when I think the time was right." _When the time was right? She'll be sleeping with a phaser under the pillow after I tell her._

"Aye, sir."

"Admiral. This is a sub-dermal transmitter. It is keyed to your body chemistry, so whenever your adrenaline goes over a certain level, we'll know. Just make sure you get good and scared if the M'loi come for you." The young MACO doctor smiled at her joke, but faltered when she saw the look on her Admiral's face.

"Ahem, yes. As I was saying. This'll be keyed to your chemistry. If, at any reason, you feel as though you are in danger, simply double tap your wrist, like so" and she demonstrated, "and MACO will be swarming around you like wasps. Any questions?"

Picard shook his head negative, and got up to leave.

The young doctor looked at the Admiral as he left, and smiled."

"Got a crush there, Lissa?"

"Naw. Just admiring the view. Anyway, what's next?"

"So, as I was saying, Jean-Luc, I think it'll be possible for us to still put on some sort of talent show in around three weeks, even with the supplies we've been forced to take on."

"What? Talent show?"

"Yes – the one I have been talking about for the past ten minutes?"

"Beverly, I'll be honest, I haven't heard a word you've said for a little while. Sorry."

"Is something on your mind?" Beverly, always a worrier, was now, predictably, worried.

"Nothing, uh, major. Just some things I had to think over. So...talent show, eh? I think it is a fantastic idea. It'll help get spirits up."

"You really think so?" a delighted squeal escaped her lips, "I'm so glad! When I first posed the idea, you didn't really seem to think it was a good idea, but then again, I suppose your weren't really listening. Then, as I was saying, we should still be able to hold it in Cargo Bay 2."

"The Cargo Bay?"

"It had fantastic acoustics, and the holodeck is too small for all the people likely to attend. I have extended the invitation to the crews of all ten ships, and all ten ships will also be represented in the show by at least one team. _Enterprise_ is the only ship that had not put an act together, and-"

"Beverly, I know what you're thinking-"

"It would be so much fun!"

"And the answer is no. I have no talents that can be brought to the stage."

"Sure you do, Jean-Luc! What about a recitation of Shakespeare, or Milton, or another?"

Picard's hand shot to his face, and with it, he shaded his eyes in a well-known gesture of incredulity.

"Beverly, I don't believe putting myself on stage and acting in one fashion or another is really commiserate with the majesty and grandeur that an Admiral commanding a fleet should be displaying, do you?"

Beverly laughed at the image it proffered in her mind. "But you'd look so cute!"

"I'm sure Starfleet would be pleased, in my next report, to hear of my cuteness."

The laughter continued from his female companion, and its infectiousness soon had him smiling at close to the same image. He loved when she laughed, it made his heart leap into his throat, and to see her laugh again...

"Beverly, I will make you a deal. You agree to appear with me, on stage, in the capacity that I need you in, and I'll perform at the show. Agreed?"

"What capacity will that be?"

"Well, we'll rehearse before hand, but I need an agreement now."

Beverly studied his face for any sign of deceit, but, as usual, it held none now. She trusted him with her life on a regular basis. What harm could it be to trust him with this?

"Deal."

"Mr. Data, please signal the fleet that we will be commencing with out departure on schedule. The heading will be 215 mark 030, the Joral system."

"Aye, sir."

Picard sat back in his chair as he saw the confirmation messages from the various ships alight on his console. Utari was no longer tenable as a defensive location and, after some minor skirmishes had occurred on the outer edge of the system, Picard had decided that a tactical retreat was in order, and the Joral system was the perfect holdout spot. Starfleet had deemed it uninhabited, and a large nebula permeated most of the inner system providing it with nearly perfect sensor masking capability, but the nebula would also interfere with subspace transmissions, rendering it a very difficult process by which to notify Starfleet on their goings-on. In light of that fact, there was one thing left to do before departing.

"Captain, I shall be in my office. You are to engage warp at precisely 1400."

"Aye, sir."

FROM: ADMIRAL JEAN-LUC PICARD, COMMANDING ADMIRAL 132nd FLEET

TO: STARFLEET COMMAND, ADMIRAL GARRET JERAAL, CHIEF OF STAFF

Sir,

I feel it is my duty to inform you that, on this Stardate, 62346.4, the 132nd Fleet, which has recently come under my command after the death of Admiral Erod, will be moving its primary base of operations to the Joral System, grid reference 36-gamma-epsilon. This action was taken on my initiative alone, and will, I hope, meet with your and the Admiralty's approval.

Due to the subspace properties of this region of space, subspace communications will be extremely limited, and will take, I am told, a minimum of one month, from date of sending, to reach either way.

The 132nd, while fighting valiantly, is both outnumbered and outgunned. Ten Starships remain operational, and of those, only three have what could be described as minor damage. Any ships or material would be appreciated, but we will do our duty nevertheless.

I have the honour to be, sir,

your obedient servant.

Etc., etc.,

Jean-Luc Picard

Rear-Admiral, SF

That message having been sent, he leaned back in his chair, and looked up just in time to see the stars outside of the viewport warp into a rainbow of colours.

Jean-Luc didn't hear the doors to the Observation Lounge open, so engrossed was he in the report he was reading. Cool hands on the back of his neck was his first indication that someone was here.

"Mmmm, Beverly. Your hands..."

Kneading the taut flesh there, Beverly worked the knots out of her lover's neck, gently easing the pain he must be feeling from hunching over a desk for most of the day.

_Lover? No, not yet. But..._

"Dinner, Jean-Luc? You must be famished."

He turned to her, and indeed he was hungry. He rose, and took her neck into his hands, and pulled her closer, so that his mouth nearly touched hers. She could feel his breath on her lips, and her own breath was a sharp inhalation. She loved it when he lost a bit of his legendary control.

"Beverly..."

_Damn the man. How is it fair that he can do this to me? Why do I melt every time he gets close to me?_

Her tongue darted out from her mouth, and licked his lips lightly, the distance between their mouths only a few inches. She darted her face forward, but each time be jerked back, a smile playing over his face. She grew insistent, and finally, after a feint and a lucky lunge, their lips touched, and a spark flashed between them, and instant of perfect clarity and understanding.

Her voice trembled.

"Yeah...ok...dinner can wait..." Her lips went back to his.

After minutes, _or was it hours?_ they broke apart from one another, breathlessly smiling into each others face. It never ceased to amaze Picard how this woman could turn him from being so old to feeling so young, and for the umpteenth time, wondered just what the hell she was doing with a man like him.

"Beverly, whatever did I do to deserve you?"

"You were probably a very bad person in a past life, Jean-Luc. No one should deserve me." Her eyes remained closed.

Jean-Luc smiled and shook his head at the same time his stomach growled.

"I think it's food time."

Beverly quite agreed with that assessment, and followed him out of the Observation Lounge, careful to keep a short and respectful distance between them. From what she had been told, the relationship between her and the Admiral had been common knowledge for what was now going on four decades, but Jean-Luc was still apprehensive about any public showing of affection, however slight it might be. Making their way to Ten-Forward, they both sat at one of the unoccupied tables. Ten minutes later, their food was served, and they ate, rarely leaving the security of the others glance.

"So, Jean-Luc, tell me about this act that you'll be putting on." _That smile..._

"Well, it's a bit of a secret, but I think you'll be suitably impressed, both by my hidden talents, and your own part in it. Your abilities, my dear Doctor, will not go to waste, I assure you."

But this only whetted her appetite for information. "Will there be singing for me?"

"Yes." He smiled.

"Will there be dancing for me?"

"Of course! I could hardly let the famous 'Dancing Doctor' of Starfleet go on a stage without having her dance, now could I?"

"Will there be acting?"

"Yes."

She smiled furtively at him, making his heart melt.

"And will you be on stage doing all of this with me?"

He smiled back, "yes."

She giggled loudly, causing some of the other patrons in the room to look at their table and smile. She quickly controlled herself.

"When do we start rehearsal?"  
"I have the holodeck booked tonight at 2300, if you'd care to join me?"

"Of course!"

"You made it, finally. I was beginning to think I was being set up!"

"I had some last minute reports to send off to the fleet. Sorry." Jean-Luc came into the holodeck, with a box in his hands. He was dressed fully in black with black knee boots, and she was sorry they were only here for a rehearsal.

_There may be time for that later..._

"Is that for the show?"

"It is our costumes."

As she looked on curiously, he pulled out the first item, a long, black cape. Draping it over his shoulders, he twirled around quickly for her benefit, causing the voluminous fabric to drift and float, giving it an almost unearthly quality. Next, out came a mask, white, fitting over his face perfectly, obscuring his face from his top lip to his forehead.

"Do you know what it is, yet?"

"Jean-Luc, I can honestly say I have no idea." She was getting excited – Jean-Luc was obviously pleased with himself, and pulled out a long black and red lace dress.

"Jean-Luc...I don't think that will look good with you cape – and it seems a little small for you."

"You jest, my lady. Now, let me help you into it."

It took longer to put the dress on, even though it was a simply affair. Jean-Luc did not let her naked flesh go untouched, and she felt shivers run up her back every time his hands touched her body. He equally was having a difficult time of keeping his thoughts straight with this beautiful creature before him. His hands were trembling, and he could feel her doing the same.

The dress fit perfectly on her form, and she had the holodeck conjure a mirror for her to examine herself in.

"Jean-Luc, it's – it's beautiful. How ever did you know my dress size?"

"I have good eyes, Beverly. Now, shall we begin?"

Picard had the holodeck create a rather spooky setting, in an underground cavern. Fog drifted slowly across the flagstones of the floor, and water rippled around them. He took her around the floor, showing her all of the various parts, explaining the significance of each.

"It is from a twentieth-century opera called 'The Phantom of the Opera' by an artist called Andrew Lloyd Webber, who got his idea from a French author named Gaston Leroux. This is the story about a recluse, the Phantom, who writes beautiful operas. Christine, your character, is a singer in this opera, but is not the Prima Donna, or first woman – the lead female part. My character, the Phantom, falls deeply in love with yours, both the woman and her voice. This song is sung as I am taking you into my lair, beneath the theatre in which you sing. I refer to you as the 'Angel of Music,' _my_ 'Angel of Music,' and you begin to fall under the spell my music weaves around you. I want your take on it, rather than a replication of the original piece, and so I'd prefer to not have you watch the original part, but rather create the character of Christine yourself. Is that all right?"

Beverly was a bit taken aback. She didn't know that Picard had such a theatrical bent, but it pleased her to no end.

"Of course, Phantom. I'm at your mercy." She smiled at him. _Goddamn, he looks good in that get up._

He handed the PADD to her, and asked the computer to play the orchestral parts. He took her around as the piece played. Beverly's head filled with the beautiful music of the opera, and she enjoyed the lavishness of it.

"Jean-Luc, it's a beautiful piece, but...I'm not so sure my voice is up to it. I'm getting a little old."

"Ma cherie, you will be perfect. And anyway, if you can't play Christine, I can't play the Phantom – I'm good enough an actor to pull emotions from no where." He looked down at her and she looked up at him with love in her eyes.

"Flatterer," she grinned at him, "but never, ever stop."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

"What the hell, Callie? Go away!"

Christine Grande rolled over in her bunk. Not wanting to face another day, she shut out the world by shutting her eyes.

"Chrissy, get up! You're going to be late!"

"Late? For what? I don't teach today. This is my day _off_. Now fuck _off._ Go pester that boyfriend of yours instead, morning wood and all that." She grumbled, and resolutely smashed her head into her pillow to emphasize where it was going to stay.

"All right, then. I'll just tell Admiral Parker that you'll be late. Would 1400 be acceptable then?"

Christine Grande, who, until this point, was still squirming about on her bed, lay still.

_Admiral Parker?_

"Admiral Parker? What meeting, Callie? I don't have a meeting..."

"You do now. The Admiral's office commed saying that she wanted to see you at 0900. That gives you _exactly_ 32 minutes to get ready and be at her office. Now, if I were you..."

Launching herself out of her bed, she ran half naked into their shared bathroom, calling out for Callie to replicate her a new uniform and a bagel with cream cheese. Taking the fastest shower in her life, she made herself presentable, and raced out the door. Running the entire distance to the local transporter station, she requested transport to the Starfleet Academy hub in San Francisco.

"Righto, ma'am. It'll be a few moments, though. We're having a few problems with the imaging scanners. Won't be a minute."

Ten minutes later, she was still waiting. Glancing at the chronometer on the wall with growing concern, she noted that she had barely five minutes before the meeting was supposed to start.

"Well, that looks to be about right. Let's just give it a test run, and-"

"No! Just transport me, please!"

"But the test-"

"Don't worry about that. Do it!"

"Yes'm."

Disappearing in a sparkle of light, Christine was relieved to find herself, in one piece, on the receiving pad of the Starfleet Headquarters with only three minutes after checking out of the room. Dashing across the ground to the Admiralty building, she nearly ran smack into a Vulcan.

"I beg your pardon."

"Sorry! I'm just running a little late for a meeting-"

"You are Lieutenant Commander Christine Grande." It was not a question.

"Uh, yes. Listen, sorry I can't stay and chat, but I'm really-"

"You will not be late. We are attending the same meeting with Admiral Parker. I am Tannar."

"Um, hi Tannar. I'm – well, I guess you know who I am." Slowing to catch her breath, she was glad that, if she was going to be late, at least there would be another walking into the meeting with her equally as detained. "How do you know who I am, anyway?"

"I read your personnel report when I found out what this meeting was going to be about."

"And that is?"

The Vulcan infuriatingly cocked her head to the side and arched an eyebrow sagely.

"Perhaps it would be best for Admiral Parker to explain that."

"Perhaps it would be." That comment came out slightly gratingly, unsurprising given that Christine's teeth were clenched.

Moving through the lobby at a brisk pace, they entered a turbolift together. Waiting for the ten seconds it took to reach the floor and section that the Admiral's office lay was a stressful one for Grande – given she knew nothing about what lay at the end of the trip.

"Lieutenant Commander Tannar to see Admiral Parker."

"Lieutenant Commander Grande to see Admiral Parker."

The aide looked up at the two women, and scrutinized their appearance carefully. Both wore their hair short – Tannar's black hair in the transitional Vulcan fashion, and Grande's normally long blonde hair in a tight, severe bun, suggesting that she was hurried this morning in her preparations. Both were short women, and their ages...the young man put Grande's age at somewhere around thirty-five, where as with Tannar, as it was with all Vulcans, it was impossible to determine her age from her physical appearance. She looked to be a woman of 30, but that could mean she was anywhere between twenty-five and one hundred and fifty earth years old.

"The Admiral is ready to see you. Please come with me."

"No, no, no! Deanna, this is not the right time for me to go on a vacation! You can go if you wish, but fleet scuttlebutt says that _Titan_ is due to ship out by the end of the week!"

"Will, that is it exactly! This could be your last chance to unwind for _a long_ time, and so help me, you need it. You've been jumping down everyone's throat for a week. You need some time off!"

"The repairs need my guidance-"

"No, they don't."

"Well, tactical drills-"

"Can be overseen by Graal."

Riker pouted the way he always did when bested by his wife. She loved that face, for it signalled victory.

"Now, why doesn't the mighty Captain go and pack his things? I've got a bit of a surprise for you, and who you'll be spending the vacation with. Now – shoo!"

Trotting off with his proverbial tail between his legs, Deanna stood and smiled to herself. It got easier every time she did it, but winning these arguments were the bread and butter of her life now. They left with that smug sense of superiority. She loved Will with all her heart, _but he had to learn his place._

Five minutes later, Riker came from the bedroom with a small dufflebag full of necessities. Not knowing where he'd be going, but only that his companions would be an interesting lot, he opted for some neutral clothing, and simple toiletries.

"Good, now, off to the transporter room! I've cleared everything with everyone who needed clearing-with, and you're good to go. Decided where you'll be going, yet?"

"Nope. I like to surprise myself. Where am I beaming down to?"

"Starfleet headquarters."

_Starfleet headquarters? Why in the hell am I going there?_

Beaming down to the familiar complex, Will gave a curt nod to the transporter chief on duty, who smiled at him respectfully, with perhaps a tinge of hero worship in his eyes. Will didn't mind that, he just wished to God that he'd live up to those expectation and eventually die a hero's death.

_Not any time soon, mind you._

Walking through the door, he heard a familiar, and comforting voice behind him.

"Will!"

Turning to see a shorter, dark skinned man with optical implants running towards him, Will's face instantly broke into a wide smile.

"Geordi! What are you doing...don't tell me, Deanna?"

"Partially. We've got a lot to catch up on it seems. Worf is waiting for us in the Montalban Bar."

"The Montalban? What's the occasion?"

"You don't know? We'll all be shipping out next week. The old _Enterprise_, just on three different ships."

"_Dauntless, Defiant, _and _Titan?"_

"You've got it. Admiralty says that Capt- sorry, I mean Admiral Picard requested reinforcements immediately rather than picking us up next time _Enterprise _was back at earth. You'll be heading those up. You've got _Dauntless, Intrepid-_classand _Defiant_, the _Titan, _and then a pair of _Sabre-_class ships."

"Who have got them?"

"No clue. Some newly promoted instructors from here on Earth. I've heard that one's a Vulcan – that's all I know."

"Well now, Geordi, let me look at you – woah, where did all those pips come from?"

La Forge's smile broadened. "Starfleet thinks it's time to have another Engineer in command. Promotion came through a month ago."

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Listen, we'd better hurry – reservations are in five minutes. I invited along the two other captains, figured it'd be a good time to see how they shape up."

Ten minutes later, three legends of Starfleet were downing their first drinks, and laughing about commonly remembered instances that they had all landed in.

"...and then, I remember thinking 'Holy shit, Captain Picard nearly caught me sweet-talking a hologram while on red alert-"

"Wasn't that Leah, Geordi?"

"Yup, it was, Worf."

"And now you have made her your mate. Admirable."

Will laughed out loud. "That wasn't the point of the story Worf. Damn, I remember the Captain piloted us out of that himself – used a big asteroid as a gravitational slingshot. Damnedest thing I ever saw."

The three of them all nodded sagely, until Worf looked up.

"There are two women looking at this table. They are Starfleet officers."

"Oh, hey! They must be the two others." Standing from the table, La Forge smiled encouragingly and waved the two women over to the table.

"I'm afraid that I forgot your names...?"

"Lieutenant Commander Christine Grande."

"Lieutenant Commander Tannar."

"Hey, now, no ranks tonight. We're here as a meet and greet, not a briefing. I'm Will Riker - great to finally meet the two of you."

"Geordi La Forge." The man bobbed his head pleasantly to both newcomers.

The blonde woman smiled at him, "yes, I remember you from the communique. Thanks so much for inviting us." The promotion to command was still sinking in for Grande.

"My pleasure!"

"I am Worf, of the House of Ma-"

"Martok, son of Mogh. I studied your career closely, if I may say so, sir. It is an honour and a privilege to finally meet you."

Worf sat back and nodded, seeming pleased.

"What'll the two of you have?" Will stood from the table, and made a motion towards the bar.

"Uh, what are you having, si- Will."

"A fine Pale Ale from Alaska, Geordi is sitting on a rum, and Worf is...Worf, what is it that you are drinking?"

"Prune juice."

Christine would have laughed out loud, except that the look on Worf's face showed no sign that what he had said was a joke.

"Uh, I'll have a Pale Ale, Will, thanks."

"And for yourself, Tannar?"

"I will partake of a water."

Will grinned. "Sure thing, ladies. Make yourselves comfortable."

The next hour and a half consisted of the three men grilling the two women on various aspects of Starship operations and command without actually _seeming_ as though they were conducting a test of sorts. Both women saw through the charade, but let it play out.

_They are legends, after all. I don't blame them for trying to figure out if we're ready to hunt with the pack._

"_Saber_s, eh? Handy little ships. Crew of...?"

"Forty officers and crew. Four type-ten phaser banks, and two torpedo launchers. Mass of 310 000 tonnes, and a maximum velocity of warp 9.7 for twelve hours."

The men looked at Tannar.

"And...?" Will and Geordi smiled and asked.

"And?" The Vulcan was confused.

"The finest pair of new command officers in the fleet."

Will stood from his seat and looked around. Many of the tables had been glancing at the trio all night, so when he called for their attention, he got it promptly. His booming voice easily filled the establishment.

"In the finest tradition of naval history, I wish to offer Christine Grande and Tannar of Vulcan a toast upon attaining their very first command. 'Fine waters and fine winds to fill fine sails. May your journeys always end in a port of call!"

The bar erupted in applause and cheers, and Grande's face turned a beet red. Tannar simply sat quietly, eyes transfixed on her drink.

"Grande, Tannar, I think you'll fit in just fine." Will sat back down, beaming at the two. Geordi got up, and went back to the bar, ostensibly to get another round for everyone.

"So, either of you have any inkling of who your XO is going to be? The _Odysseus _and the _Damocles_ being new ships and all, you'll have remarkable leeway in choosing your own crew and officers."

"I have narrowed my selection down to four remaining candidates, and will make my choice tomorrow, giving them enough time to accept or decline." Tannar cocked her head to the side.

"Who are they, if I may ask?"

"I would prefer to keep that a secret until after the selection has been made."

Will nodded, understanding.

"And yourself, Christine? Any picks?"

She smiled, the ale loosening her tongue a bit. "Well, I heard you made a hell of a first for Picard. Any advice?"

Will smiled, happy that she was becoming more comfortable around the three old _Enterprise_ hands.

"Well, you're going to want someone who can stand up to you, that's for sure. One of the reasons that Jean-Luc Picard chose me as his first officer was that he read in my file that I once didn't allow an old Captain of mine to enter a hostile situation. That is who you need – someone who makes you think about what you're doing."

"You – you stood up to Picard? Jesus...he came to lecture for one of my classes once. We all thought he was brilliant, but no one wanted to ask questions in case he shot us down. Scared the hell out of most of us just having him in the room."

Geordi smiled. "Yeah, I remember that feeling when I first met the man. I was his shuttle operator during an early inspection of the _Enterprise-D_. Nearly bumped into the ship while doing around the nacelle because I was so nervous of screwing up. He told me, later, that I got assigned to the _Enterprise_because I spent half that night fixing a problem that he detected on the shuttle."

"I remember him telling me much the same." Worf spoke up, now, eager to share the thoughts he had of the Admiral. "When I stood before the Klingon High Council, Admiral Picard stood beside me as a friend and as a man I have the utmost respect for. He is a warrior, as great as any of the heroes of Klingon lore. Chancellor Martok once told me that Admiral Picard was a _m'tak'chala_, a 'large soul' in Klingon. His entry to _Sto-Vo-Kor_ will herald many songs throughout the quadrant in his honour."

Tannar quietly put down her glass, and spoke slowly and softly.

"Admiral Picard addressed a class that I was instructing at the academy. It was on Tactical Training, and the material being taught at the time was Advanced Interrogation Techniques. I used to ask several officers every year, who it was known had gone through torture and interrogation at some point to give a short lecture about it, but I never got any responses. Three years ago, however, Captain Picard arrived in my classroom, and said that he would give a lecture that he had prepared on the topic in response to my query. I had scheduled him to speak for fifteen minutes, but he took three hours to finish what he had to say. The room, by the end of the presentation, was as full as I had ever seen it, and there were no less than fourteen Admirals in attendance sitting beside Captains and students. It was, I believe, a moving experience for many who listened that day, and it gave me a good insight into who the man was. It was highly informative, and I was grateful to him for his actions."

Worf sat back, thinking on what was said.

"I remember that mission. It's been long enough that it is no longer secret – Captain Picard, Doctor Crusher, and I were sent to Celtris III to scout what was thought to be a secret Cardassian research facility, which turned out to be a trap." Worf poured himself another prune juice from the carafe he had on the table.

"We fought, but even the trapped _targ_ cannot overcome that many spears. We were forced to fall back, and one of the Cardassians had tripped the control to close the door. I went and tryed to hold it back long enough for both the Doctor and the Captain to make it out, but only a few seconds after the Doctor slipped through, I was struck with a weapon beam, and fell through the door. Then, I witnessed the bravest thing I have ever seen someone do, human or otherwise. When Captain Picard was trapped on the other side of the door, Doctor Crusher ordered us to get away."

Will Riker and Geordi La Forge both nodded solemnly, Tannar seemed politely interested, but to the ale addled brain of Christine Grande, a few things didn't add up.

"She told you to leave? I thought she was in l- uh, I mean, uh-"

"Love with the Captain? Yes, I saw it in her eyes when she ordered me to run, and I saw it in her eyes on our way back to the _Enterprise, _even though neither of them cared to admit it at the time. She hurt herself more deeply than any phaser beam could have, but she did her duty to her oath as a Starfleet Officer, as well as her unsaid oath to Captain Picard. We needed to get back to the Federation to tell them about what we had found out. I hated her on that trip back – I wanted to go back for my Captain, but she was in command in his absence. I have since come to respect her greatly for her actions that day, but at the time, I wanted nothing to do with her at all. She reminded me that fidelity to one's mate can be shown through fidelity to one's honour and duty. An important lesson, indeed. She is a worthy mate of Admiral Picard, and he of her."

All sat back, thinking on their own relationships, their own duties and honours that needed to be upheld. It was a sobering thought, and all of them looked around to one another, comfortable in each other's presence. The ale had cured Grande of her jitters, and Tannar had not shown it, but she, too, was becoming more relaxed in the august company about her.

"To duty and honour, may they always be the fruits of our labours." Geordi lifted his glass to the table.

"Here, here." They all raised their glasses to meet his.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

_USS Enterprise, Joral System_

_"At last, my love has come along..."_

The man holds the woman closely as they move in time through the room. Candles, being lit in their dozens, gift a soft light on what was happening. Hand in hand, and body on body, the couple pull back from one another, the dance becoming but a sideshow to what they feel for each other.

"Is everything all right?" The woman cocks her head to the side.

The man smiles, "Everything – everything is perfect, absolutely perfect."

They move closer together, the woman resting her fair face on the man's shoulder, listening to the music that is growing stronger and more powerful around them. They pass by the remnants of a half-eaten dinner, neither of them hungry tonight, neither of them wanting to spend more than only a few minutes out of the arms of another. The woman frowns to herself, wondering what is happening. A wonderful man – the most wonderful man – is in her arms, dancing with her, which doesn't make any sense.

Doubt fills her mind as she thinks on this harder and harder. Why her? What makes her special amongst the trillions and trillions of beings in this universe. What about her makes her even close to worthy of this – this god. His hand moves on her lower back, tracing patterns on the skin, making her suddenly feel uncomfortable, unworthy, uncertain. her heart beats faster and faster as fear, true fear, grips her in the vitals. She is about to pull away until he does first. She knows what's coming, and is dreading it.

He smiles at her, and the cloud of fear that had formed about her burned away.

"Jean-Luc? I'm-I'm really happy. I just wanted you to know that." She smiles again, and rests her head against his shoulder and neck, kissing him softly, and her hand is moving slowly down his back, tracing out intricate sketches there.

"Beverly? You took the words right out of my mouth."

The music stops, but neither of them give up their hold on one another, and their eyes are closed to the world.

_USS Titan, Sol System_

"Well, I don't care, tell space dock that we're leaving within twenty-four hours, regardless of whether the booms have been retracted. Advise them that the _Titan's_ impulse engines are more than powerful enough to break out of here."

Jonas smiled at his Captain. "Yes, sir!"

Riker sat back, surveying the bridge. Outside the viewscreen, he could see the spacedock's worker bees buzzing about the ship, making late hour repairs before being the _Titan_ was sent off into one of the furthest reaches of the Federation. Beside the _Titan_, he could see the _Dauntless_ and the _Defiant_ undergoing similar final checks and repairs. Holding their station a few hundred kilometers to port, the _Damocles_ and _Odysseus_ waited for the larger ships to become ready to fly with them. Will smiled at the image of horses chomping at the bit, eager for the fight that would be ahead. Reports were troubling from that sector of space. Reports that made it all the more urgent that Riker get his squadron to meet up with the 132nd, and Picard.

The M'loi had committed a larger portion of their ships to that area than was strategically warranted from Starfleet's point of view. The Utari Sector was not an important part of space, and the Joral system was an unimportant star system in that unimportant Sector. Starfleet Intelligence hadn't been able to make heads nor tails of the whole situation, so the Fleet hadn't sent more ships into the area, thinking it was a ruse. Will wasn't sure either way, but he did know that his mentor was in trouble, and that was enough for him.

"Riker to Troi. Deanna? Lunch?"

_"__Sure, Will. I'll meet you in the lounge in half an hour?"_

"Sure thing. See you then."

"Trevor? I'll be in my ready room."

"Aye, sir."

_Something just doesn't add up – why would this many ships be deployed to this sector? Nothing is there of any import – gas nebulae and deserted planets, what could be so-_

Then it hit him. It wasn't the sector, it wasn't even what was in the sector, it was _who_ was in the sector.

"Riker to the bridge. Advise spacedock that we _will_ be leaving within twelve hours."

"_Aye, sir_"

"Riker to La Forge. Geordi, we're leaving within twelve hours. Is that gonna be enough time?"

_"__Yeah, it should be, Will. What's the rush?"_

"I'll tell you at dinner tonight. 2100?"

"_Sounds good. See you then."_

"Riker to Worf. We'll be leaving within twelve hours. Will the _Defiant_ be all squared away?"

_"__Yes, Captain. We shall be ready to leave when you are."_

"Good to hear. Dinner tonight here on the _Titan_. 2100 all right with you?"

_"__Yes, sir. I will be there."_

"Riker to Tannar. So you know, we'll be moving up our schedule and leaving within twelve hours. _Damocles_ up to it?"

_"__Yes, sir. We are ready to depart with the _Titan_ at any time."_

"Good to hear. There will be a briefing dinner here on the _Titan_ at 2100."

_"__Very good, sir."_

"Riker to Grande. Christine, we're leaving within twelve hours. Ready to head out?"

_"__You know it, sir. Ready and willing to show them what we can do."_

"Great! Listen, there'll be a dinner here on the _Titan_ tonight so we all know what's going down. 2100. Good for you?"

_"__Aye, sir. Dress casually?"_

"Whatever is comfortable. Nothing too sexy, I don't want Deanna to get grumpy." He could hear the smile in her response.

_"__Haha, right. Noted, sir."_

Breathing our slowly, he shook his head at the process of inviting some guests for dinner. _Damn comm system. Why can't I just send text to everyone at once?_

It would be more than two months before they reached the system in which Admiral Picard was stationed. Will hoped against hope that it would be enough time.

_USS Enterprise, Joral System_

"Captain Data, what is the status of the search?"

"We have not yet found traces of the _Revenant_, Admiral. They seem to have gone missing during a routine scan of the fourth planet in this system. It is Class L, but Starfleet has never scouted it as to whether it holds any advanced lifeforms due to the location of the planet within the nebula."

"Speculation on the cause of the disappearance?"

"Without sufficient data regarding the event, I cannot offer an explanation for the disappearance, sir."

Picard nodded, thankful for the steadiness of his android friend. It was likely not the M'loi, as in-depth scans of the outer edges of the system over the past several days revealed that there was little quantum bending in the area, normally a sure sign of the M'loi's warp engines at work. The _Revenant_ was an _Akira-_class ship – powerful weapons and shields mounted on powerful engines. Whatever took her down would be a dangerous hazard to scout out with any ship in the fleet – _Enterprise_ included. However, Picard could not give up the search, and if any ship had a chance of making it through the nebula undamaged, it would be the mighty _Sovereign-_class.

"All right, Mr. Data. The _Revenant_ has been gone for three days. We'll take the _Enterprise_ in and search for some more clues as to our mystery. We'll leave in four hours. Please ask Mr. Barclay to meet me in my office."

"Aye, sir."

Picard walked the short distance from the science station on the bridge to the Observation Lounge that now doubled as the Admiral's Office on the ship. Two women looked up and smiled at his approach, each rising from their seats and walking towards him, each with a PADD in their hands, and each with a need for his approval on some policy or other.

"Sir, these are the orders that you asked me to prepare for the other ships in case of your incapacity. I have included, even though it is redundant with established Starfleet protocols for such an event, that Captain Data will be in charge of the fleet until your recovery. I deemed it prudent to do so since he is...not...quite...?"

"Alive?" Picard smiled and supplied the word that the young Lieutenant was dancing around.

"Uh, yes, sir. I thought it best to put it in your standing orders – to remind some of the fact."

"Wise. And you, Bellia?"

"I've got the new format of condolence letters that you asked me to write up. I think they are what you were looking for, but I'd like your approval before putting them on file as such."

Picard took the PADD from her hand and, giving it a once over, passed it back to Bellia Korax. She had done a marvellous job of conveying a sense of grief at the loss of a crew member. It was a beautiful passage, but Picard knew that it was an empty gesture on his part. Signing a name to the end of a letter telling someone their loved one was never going to come back home seemed like a empty, vacuous gesture for what would be one of the most traumatic experiences of anyone's life. He remembered taking Jack's body home to Beverly all those decades ago, and the reaction on her face as he told her that her beloved would never again walk through her door

_Devastation._

He tried to imagine himself getting one of those pre-written messages, signed by some pompous old fool with far too much power and far too little sense.

_Mr. Picard,_

_I regret to inform you that _BEVERLY CRUSHER _has died in the line of duty. She died as she lived, dutiful and honourably. The entire Federation mourns with you for her. She was a true..._

Tearing himself out of that thought, he hated himself more keenly and more passionately than he had ever hated anything. It was because of men and women like him that millions had lost a family member or friend during the conflicts of the last decade. It was the fat cats in their big chairs who sent good, innocent men and women to their deaths.

_God, what the hell am I doing? I should be disgusted with myself._

The two lieutenants looked at each other with some concern, until Rachel reached out any touched his hand, then concern turned to horror.

_USS Dauntless, Sol System_

"Mr. Michaels, I'll be leaving the bridge this evening to go to the _Titan_. Make sure we're ready to go by the time I leave. Captain Riker made it clear that we would be leaving soon."

"Aye, sir. And sir? Can you tell us where we're going?"

"I hope to get that information tonight. I'll be in my ready room."

Geordi La Forge made his way across the tight bridge of the _Intrepid-_class to the spacious captain's ready room. Sitting down behind the desk, he mused on how his life had gone. He knew from the reports that Picard had gone into 'hiding' in some far away sector of space. Geordi wondered if Jean-Luc Picard had ever truly tried to hide from anything in his life. Reading the battle reports from the Dominion War, he knew that his old Captain favoured the hit-and-run tactics that had seen _Enterprise_ through some of the heaviest fighting during that conflict with one of the lowest casualty counts of any of the allied ships.

And now, that same man needed some help. Nothing wrong with that. But it still felt odd for Geordi – going to the rescue, of sorts, of a man Geordi had always looked up to. It felt like the first time he had ever beaten his father at chess – there was no loss of respect for the man, but a coming of age of sorts for Geordi. _I am _now_ a Captain._

Hunching over a computer terminal, he began work on testing a warp field theory that had come to him during his morning shower. By the time he was ready to go, his theory had collapsed – but he had thought of a half dozen ways to fix the problem.

_They can promote me, but that just means they have an engineer in the Captain's chair._

Geordi smiled.

"So, that's the long and short of it. I think that the M'loi are in the sector for the Cap- Admiral Picard. We're nine weeks away at warp 8, but long range sensors indicate the M'loi haven't moved a substantial number of ships to the area. They probably figure they've got _Enterprise_ trapped, and with the step up on attacks all along the frontier, they probably don't think anyone is coming in to save him."

"Will, why Picard?" Geordi asked the question he had been wondering about all through the briefing, and now dinner. The engineer liked these sorts of briefings – he always got hungry when he was mulling over new information, a likely cause of the few extra pounds he had put on in the last year. _Got to do something about that._

"I'm not entirely sure, but it is the only logical explanation for why they are so interested in that sector – otherwise, it's pretty barren. I know Starfleet Command had been thinking of abandoning it before Picard got there, but now that he's stuck – we're getting him out."

Tannar spoke up. "Sir, there is a possibility that this is a trap set to lure ships into the area for just such a rescue."

Riker nodded, the Vulcan, as he was beginning to suspect, was a master of saying what people were thinking. "I had the same thoughts, but the mission is still a go. Picard is a valuable resource to the Federation, and Jeraal has given me the green light to go for it."

Tannar seemed satisfied by this, and sat back.

"It's just us, Captain?" Worf rumbled from his seat.

"Yep – just us."

"Good."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

_Main Bridge, USS _Enterprise_, 1405 hours_

"Uh, Captain? I'm picking up some strange readings from the fourth moon. I think it's-"

"_Intruder alert, observation loun-"_ Static filled the comm frequencies as dozens of emergency calls came through to the bridge.

_"Intruder alert, deck seven!"_

_"__Intruders in main sickbay!"_

_"__Intruder alert, deck fifteen!"_

Another dozen of these calls for help came in through the comm system. Data had removed himself from the command chair, and spoke quickly to the computer.

"Computer, lock out command functions to the bridge, and seal all entrances to the bridge. Seal the Jeffries tubes and restrict access to the turbolifts to security, medical and command personnel only. Red alert."

Making secure the bridge, he bolted for the door to the Observation Lounge.

_Main Sickbay, USS _Enterprise_, 1404 hours_

"All right, Alyssa, bring me those bacterial samples. I think I've got the sequencing done."

"Yes, Doctor. Have you figured out how to control the rate of reproduction yet?"

"No, but I think I may have thought out a way to test that. If you'd just bring me the samples, I could show you, now – if you please!"

Alyssa Ogawa smiled at the doctor, and moved into the office to get the tray carrying the samples when she heard an odd sound.

_Almost like a transporter…?_

"Oh, my God!" slapping the commbadge on her chest, she yelled "Intruders in main sickbay!"

She managed to duck out of the way of a bright yellow lance of energy that had been directed at her chest, and get behind a wall. Thankfully, Starfleet had authorized medical personnel to carry side arms during this war, as it had been shown that the M'loi had had no compunction about shooting unarmed medics on the battlefield.

Grabbing the phaser from her belt, she checked to make sure the setting was on 'stun'. While the ships standing order was for 'kill' settings during the war, she didn't feel right taking a life.

"Doctor, they are in the surgery!"

Ducking back out, Ogawa snapped off a few quick shots, making the two aggressors in the main surgery theatre duck behind some medical crates that had been stored there. The nurse knew that she had back aim, and never managed to get to the phaser range on the ship, despite being required to do so during war time.

_But those bastards don't know that, do they?_

Rolling to the side and crouching inside the surgery, she swore to herself. _Dammit, I need to get more exercise_.

Hearing heavy footsteps approaching, she whipped out from behind her cover, and managed to land a solid hit, squarely in the centre of the M'loi's chest, causing him to stagger slightly, but doing nothing to arrest his forward movement towards her.

_This is it, then. I guess I should have put it to a higher setting._

Before the soldier was able to raise his weapon and kill Ogawa, a deep red spike of phaser fire, like the red of blood, tore a burning hole through the chest of her would-be killer.

"That is why the standing order was to set phasers for kill, Alyssa."

The nurse looked behind her, breathing heavily. Doctor Crusher was kneeling there behind the same crates, a phaser in her hand.

"Where is the other one, Alyssa?"

"I don't know, Doctor. He must have ducked out while I was being dumb. And…thanks."

"Save it for after we get the other."

At that moment, the klaxons and red lights of the ship's highest alert status began to pulse through the hull, as an explosion rippled from somewhere.

"Crusher to Picard. What the hell is happening up there?!"

_Observation Lounge, USS _Enterprise_, 1405 hours_

"Sir, please get under the table! Bellia and I can handle this!"

Rachel Yerla then, rather roughly and abruptly, shoved her Admiral under the polished table of the Observation Lounge, causing Picard to smack his head heavily on the surface as he went down, disorienting him for a moment.

Out of the corner of his increasingly spinning vision, he watched helplessly as a bright yellow lance of energy burned a large hole in the abdomen of one of the MACOs assigned to the area, dropping him almost instantly and silently, causing the room with the increasingly familiar stench of burning flesh.

Bellia Korax had taken out her sidearm, and ducked down beside the Admiral. He could hear the whine of transporters going off.

"Rachel!"

Bellia got up and charge the M'loi holding her friend and colleague by the neck, Rachel's left arm broken and limp beside her.

Picard could do _nothing. _

_And then it was black._

_Main Sickbay, USS _Enterprise_, 1410 hours_

"Begin triage procedures. Alyssa, get all the MACOs with medic training up here!"

Doctor Beverly Crusher rushed across the main sickbay, which was now innundated with the dead and dying, to treat another patient.

"Uh, Ethan? I'm getting some strange readings from this patient. Almost like..."

"Like what, Doctor?"

"Like _power_ readi- oh, my God. Get back! Everyone, get back!"

As the redheaded doctor dove behind a biobed, the young officer on the table suddenly and violently exploded, showering gore across the sickbay, causing many in the area to begin emptying the contents of their stomach onto the surfaces near them.

_So much for a sterile work area_.

Crusher stood up again, unable to properly process what had just happened.

_A bomb? In his body? What- why the hell...well, I guess that's obvious. Terror and confusion, just like everyone is about to begin experiencing in five, four, thee, two-_

The silence immediately following the explosion broke into confused and frightened commotion, each and every person in the room looking at their neighbours with suspicion, thinking that they, too, might have a bomb in them, which was now a very real threat to the continuation of medical treatment.

_But what the hell do I do? I can't just...yes. I can. I must. My peace of mind is not worth the possible deaths of so many. Oh, god..._

Moving throughout the room, she scanned each and every person. Those she found with the energy signatures, she called for immediate transport. No one knew to where, but Beverly did. There was a flash override for Chief Medical Officers allowing for Transport Gamma-One.

_Off the ship._

And Beverly used that override almost a dozen times.

_Main Bridge, USS _Enterprise_, 1410_

"Sir! The doors to the Observation Lounge are loc-"

The young officer watched in amazement as Captain Data punched his hand through the Duranium doors of the Observation lounge like it was tissue paper, and wrenched the half of the door out of the wall. The MACOs on the bridge rushed through the ruined door, firing at the M'loi in the room. The M'loi ducked for cover at this new threat, and a fire fight ensued..

"Admiral! Admiral, are you in there? Admiral, are you all right?"

One of the MACOs spotted the Admiral, seemingly injured, underneath the conference table.

"Sir, I see him!"

"Get him out, Corporal! All right, MACOs, keep their heads down!"

The firing intensified, heating up the room considerably. Ignited by the spears of phaser fire being launched by the MACOs, the chairs in the room began to smoulder and smoke, providing serendipitous cover under which the MACO chosen rushed into the room and, grabbing Picard under the arms, dragged him to safety.

"N-no-, they're in there..." A groan of pain escaped his mouth.

"I know, sir. That's why we need to get you out."

The Admiral was unable to answer, and instead pointed weakly. _My girls, they're still in there!_

In the smoke forms were beginning to move, and the MACOs raised their weapons.

"N-no..." Picard saw red, then black, then nothing, passing out from a severe concussion.

Just as the MACO were about to fire, the whine of the transporter effect took the forms from the room, leaving it a smoking and choking room of corpses. It was into this room that Data strode.

"Where are the two lieutenants Corporal?"

"Lieutenants, sir?"

_Prisoner Collection, M'loi Vessel _Trek'phar'lekk_, 1415_

"Rachel? Rachel?"

The woman who lay in Bellia Korax's arms shivered from shock, her arm bleeding profusely.

_Damn, damn, damn. I should have pain more attention in First Responder class..._

"B-bellia, you need to stop the b-bl-bleeding. I n-need a tour-tourniquet. I n-need-" her voice trailed off.

Some of the other newly arrived prisoners huddled into corners, all of them injured in some way. Bellia Korax ripped the bottom of her trousers, and tried her best to tie it around the arm of her friend. Rachel yelled in pain as her arm was moved, and it was all Bellia could do to keep going. Tears were running down her face.

"What else? Rachel, what else should I do?"

"B-bellia? What-where are we?" Yerla's face had a confused expression on it. She shook her head fiercely, by the confusion stayed.

"Rachel, we've been captured. You're hurt, what do I do?"

"I-where, what are we doing?"

"Rachel!" Bellia's voice rose in panic, "Rachel, what do I do? I don't know what to do, please! You've got to help me!"

Rachel smiled beatifically at her companion and caregiver, not understanding the situation.

"Where are we?"

Bellia's hands went to her face, and ran through her hair.

_What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?_

_...what would Beverly Crusher do? What would Jean-Luc Picard do?_

_They'd make sure as many people survived, no matter what, and no matter what happened to them. They'd get people moving, doing what needed to be done._

Bellia looked around at the frightened faces, and in them she saw the same fear that ate at her own heart, but that fear she fought down and, gently moving the now sleeping Rachel Yerla, stood up, and addressed the crowd.

"Who here is ok to move around?"

Of the few who looked at her, none answered.

"Starfleet officers and crew, I am Lieutenant Bellia Korax, personal aide to Admiral Picard, and I asked you all a question! Who here can move?"

_That_ got their attention.

"Yeah, well, I'm Lieutenant _Commander_ Hodges, and you have no right to-"

"Then act like a Lieutenant Commander. Get these people organized. If you won't, then leave it to me, and stay out of the damned _way_!"

Hodges appeared to be about to reply, but his mouth only opened and shut, twice, before he sat down.

"All right, now. Who can move?"

A few of the men and women around her rose from their places and moved towards the Lieutenant.

"Right, good. Let's begin basic triage. Who here has medic training?"

Again, a few put their hands up.

"Well, congratulations, you're all doctors now. Ask for anything you need, and we'll get it to you if we can. Let's remember that we're all still Starfleet."

_Main Bridge, USS _Titan_, 1445 hours_

"Helm, ETA?"

"Four hours at warp 6, sir."

"Good. Try hailing the _Enterprise_ again."

The familiar chirp of the comm system, but not the answer.

"Helm, increase speed to warp 8, advise the fleet to match."

_Secondary Sickbay Two, USS _Enterprise,_ 1505 hours_

"Admiral, can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Doctor, I'm fine."

"Admiral, _how many fingers am I holding up._"

"Seven."

Beverly Crusher smiled. _Yeah, he's fine_.

"What the devil happened? And why does my head hurt so much...?"

"You hit it pretty hard on a table, Jean-Luc. You've had a concussion, but there has been no lasting damage. Here, I've got something for the pain..."

The soft hiss of the hypospray sent the medication into the blood vessels of his neck, bringing him almost instant relief. Looking about, the questioning contortion to his face was also quickly relieved by the doctor.

"It seems that the M'loi have thought up a new game." A dark laugh came from the doctor, in whose eyes there burned a new hate for some atrocity. She continued, "they rigged explosives into some of the wounded that had been knocked out. One of them went off in Main Sickbay as we were treating them. Fortunately, only the wounded man died in the explosion, but I...I've had to remove a dozen or more from the ship since. I...Jean-Luc, lay back! You don't get up until I've told you you can, understood?"

"Yes, Doctor. Now, tell me I can so I can do my job."

She frowned at him, but saw the fire in his eyes to _do something_.

"Yeah, all right. Go, but if you start to feel the slightest bit light headed, or nauseated, you contact me right away, all right? Don't play around with me on this, Jean-Luc. You took a nasty blow, and we don't need the death count to go any higher."

She leaned in until her lips were brushing his ears.

"Plus, if I find out you didn't contact me if you start to feel worse, I know how to inflict _just_ enough pain without doing any serious damage." To soften the threat, she kissed him lingeringly on the side of the cheek, and squeezed his shoulders.

He smiled at her and got up.

"Damn," he said under his breath, "where are my lieutenants?"

He had a niggling feeling that they needed his help, but he couldn't quite remember...

"I don't know...they never came into sickbay, so that's a good thing."

_M'loi Vessel _Trek'phar'lekk_, 1500 hours_

"Perceptor, the prisoners-"

"Very well. Savant, guide the vessel."

With respectful bows, the subordinates on the bridge noted the passing of their commander from the heart of the vessel.

_As it should be._

"Which of you have the authority to speak on all of your behalf?" The Perceptor spoke Federation Basic with a strong accent.

"I shall. Lieutenant Bellia Korax of the _Enterprise_."

The Perceptor tiled his head. "Where is Admiral Picard?"

"He's commanding the fleet to crush you, at the moment." Bellia felt like she ought to be obstinate. _And dammit, I can be obstinate. _"Why do you ask?"

"It matters not. You can speak for them? Then do so. When this vessel reaches Yal'ak'at, many of you will be offloaded to the prisoner of war centre. However, six of you will not be, and will be given to fate. You may choose those six. Do so before we arrive at our destination, or all of you will be sent."

Bellia stared at the tall humanoid as he turned from her. "What is 'being sent to fate' or whatever it is entail?"

The Perceptor turned, and raised a armoured fist, sending Bellia sprawling to the floor, blood flowing from her ruined lips.

"Speak when spoken to, human."

With that, he left.

Propping herself up with her arms, she tried to ignore the pain coming from her face. She knew that to open her mouth to talk would bring on a terrible agony, but the men and women under her now-command were frightened, _and rightly so. But I've got to say something._

_Something to brighten their spirits._

The only words that came to her would be ones immortalised later in the recounting of what happened.

Despite the almost all consuming pain in her face, she willed her mouth to contort into a weak, but clear, smile. With a clear and strong voice that everyone in the room could hear, she said "Man, what a fucking jerk."

_Main Bridge, USS _Enterprise,_ 1645 hours_

"Captain, can we trace the transporter signals of the attackers?" Admiral Picard stood ridgedly on the bridge of the _Enterprise_, pointedly not thinking about how many members of his crew had been taken or killed in the recent invasion.

"I believe so, Admiral. Sensors indicate that the transporter beams originated on the fourth moon of Joral VII. If so, it would mean that either the M'loi have a base on the moon that as hitherto gone unnoticed, or the moon is being used as a way station for a longer range transporter. In either instance, that moon would seem to be our best chance of tracing where they have gone. I suggest making a closer inspection of the surface of the moon."

"Very good, make it so, Captain. I'll be in- I'll be in my quarters. Carry on."

Picard felt weary, as he always did nowadays. The fighting during the early afternoon, his injury, and the singularly unpleasant and gut-wrenching news of the loss of his lieutenant, to captivity or death, he knew not which, had taken much of the wind out of the old Admiral's sails.

Although he would never admit it it anyone else around him, Picard was worried for Bellia and Rachel. During the course of the weeks living and working together, he had seen great potential in both of them, and had come to see them as more than mere subordinates – they were his wards and protégées, almost like..._daughters._

The spark of a need he never knew existed had been fanned to flames during the events of the war. Fatherhood had never been a main objective of his life, and he had rarely thought about it in the long years of his service to Starfleet, but his recent brushes with death, as well as the burgeoning relationship with his love of decades, another fate he never thought would come to pass, awoke in him a deep regret. Beverly was too old to mother children, and he couldn't imagine having children with any other woman. He held no resentment towards Beverly for it, and was as happy as he could be with his personal life at the moment, but the regret lingered like leaves on brittle branches.

Walking through the now-opened portal to the turbolift, he waited on the doors to close before letting out a long sigh, and rubbing his eyes gently as if to make the world go away, he requested Deck 2, and felt the slight change in momentum before the inertial dampeners caught up. The lift stopped, and without looking, he stepped through the door, and directly into space.

_Main Bridge, USS _Titan_, 1700 hours_

"Captain, we are approaching the Joral system."

"Tactical, try to raise the _Enter-_"

_"_Titan,_ this is the _Enterprise_. Respond, please."_

Riker glanced at his Tactical officer, and nodded. "Data, what's your situation? We've been trying to hail you for the past four hours."

"_The Joral system has several unique celestial phenomenon that make long range non-subspace communication almost impossible under normal circumstances. What is your estimated time of arrival?"_

Riker arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"Uh, we're about half an hour away...do we not appear on your sensors?"

"_Our sensors are currently offline. I would suggest transporting over as soon as possible to meet with the Admiral. Additionally, any engineering teams that you can spare would be appreciated."_

The arched eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"We'll be there soon. Hang in there, _Enterprise_."

_"Merde!"_ Picard recoiled back, but the turbolift was no longer behind him.

_Why am I not dead?_

_"I would have thought you'd be used to this sort of thing by now, Jean-Luc. You are not dead because I wouldn't know what to do without you."_

_"Q?"_

_"The one and only. We haven't long."_

_"Why the devil are you here!?"_

_"Oh, I know, dear Jean-Luc. I should have called. But the decades do just slip by when you're immortal. I am sad to say that you are not so lucky."_

_"What? Is this- am I- Is it my time?"_

_"Pah! _Your time._ Your time? Do you think yourself so important as to warrant a Q coming to get you personally. No, Picard, it is not your time, although I may show up when it is." _

The tone of the voice within Picard's head changed from mocking to almost...serious. "

_"No, this is something far less...personal. It seems that the petty war you mortals are fighting out against one another has attracted- no, that isn't right. Those M'loi you are fighting, it seems they awoke their own gods. And the Continuum is not please about that, Jean-Luc."_

_"So? You have consistently said that the Continuum is omnipotent. Do what you always do – act brashly."_

_"Yes, well, it seems-"_

_"You can't."_

_"What, Picard?"_

_"You can't get rid of them, can you? Is this like you friend, 0? Are they too powerful for even the vaunted Continuum?"_

_"Hardly."_ Picard couldn't see the meddlesome deity, but he could hear the sneer in his head. _"No, it seems these beings, if you can call them that, were always here, they've only just awoken. Written into the fabric of the universe, it seems."_

_"What are they?"_

_"The Fates, Picard. And they do play dirty. So we must, as well. A war in heaven to mirror the war on earth. Poetic, no? Regardless, there are things that must be done, and things that must be done by you. You cannot lose this war, Jean-Luc. No, I don't care about the Federation, or even you, really. I _do_ care about the M'loi. They are a plague, but they don't bring boils or ulcers, but demons and chaos. Do not fail in this. You can't begin to imagine the stakes."_

_"Q, I often find that in many things that I have done over my career, 'the stakes couldn't be higher' or some such. I'll do my best, as I've always done. Will the Continuum help?"_

_"We have been."_

_"What? In what way?_

_"Gods number amongst your enemies now, Jean-Luc. It is only by the grace of the Continuum that you exist at all."_

Picard instantly came to be in main sickbay, with the nauseating feeling that he owed Q a great deal.

**After some consultation with my betas, the story will be begin swerving into the 'epic' genre - big deeds, big loves, big fights, big heroics. Please, tell me what you think about it. The introduction of Q was to facilitate this transition somewhat, and he will be playing a part, but not as an independent problem solver - no deux ex machinas here.**

**I also have a mirror-universe Picard story in the making, and I'm looking for beta readers – if anyone is interested, please PM me.**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter XII

**This chapter deals with some mature content. Reader discretion is advised.**

_Prisoner Intake, Yal'ak'at Prison, 22 December 2381_

"No."

Bellia stood stock straight, confused.

"But I chose for you. That is what you required of me, and-"

"Because it was an exercise in futility. Perhaps you will learn the lesson there is from this, perhaps you will not. It matters little, either way. Soldiers..."

The M'loi pointed malevolent fingers at six of the most terrified and frightened of the Starfleet members in the prisoner's hold, and his attendant guards grabbed them and hauled their screaming bodies off.

Hate shone through Bellia's eyes, but she could not discern a method of killing the man, and so remained still and silent.

"You wish to kill me, Starfleet?" The huge man laughed. "Your spirit is impressive, but Yal'ak'at will quash it. Your life, as you have known it, is at an end." Continuing to laugh while turning away, he led the six out the door.

Once the M'loi had left, Bellia hunched from exhaustion. 'Being given to fate' was probably a lethal ordeal, and believing that she had to chose the six to be sacrificed had weighed on her heavily.

_But perhaps that was the point? To break my spirit?_

_ It will take far more than that to break me._

"Bellia?" Rachel Yerla asked clearly. It had taken all of Bellia's medical knowledge – being limited as it was – to ensure that her friend survived. Rachel had a badly broken arm, but otherwise seem unhurt. A simple splint was all Bellia could do, and it grieved her deeply to imagine what torment the half-Vulcan half-Betazoid was going through. Bellia wanted to reach out and touch her, comfort her, but Rachel had expressly forbid it, stating that, as powerful a touch-telepath as she was, she would be unable to shield her pain from people, and Bellia respected this boundary request, knowing that in her position, she would have made a very similar one.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"I- I was wrong about you, it seems. I always thought of you as...weaker than me. I believed that you wouldn't have what it took to be in command. I was wrong – you've been magnificent."

"Save your praise for until we get out of this – than I expect you to praise my greatness to high heaven. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you. My arm hurts like hell, though – did you set it, or...? I was pretty out of it for a while, so my memory isn't that great of what has happened."

"Yeah, I set it – poorly. Sorry about the pain, though, we've run out of painkillers, and I gave the last of it to Ensign Mendes. I'm a poor triage officer."

"Why say that? You know I wouldn't have wanted it if it meant depriving other of it."

"True, but Danni Mendes died about ten minutes after getting the dose. It would have been more effective if I had given it to you."

"No – I don't think so. If you gave it to Mendes, that means she was probably pretty banged up, right? That means she was in pain. You gave her the last ten minutes in relative comfort, and I'll take a sore arm for the price of that. Doctor Crusher would probably have done the same."

"Doctor Crusher would probably have you up and about by now. She'll have to resent the arm when we get back to _Enterprise_ anyway – I made a bit of a pig's breakfast out of it, truth be told. I wonder how everyone is back on the _Enterprise_?"

"Probably missing us all terribly. I know that the Admiral won't be able to get any work done without us. Missing us be damned, he certainly won't be able to find where the PADD containing the latest Starfleet Reports went." Rachel snorted with laughter.

"Yeah, well, I think they're missing us terribly anyways. I- I really miss being on the ship. We've only been off for a few days, and still...I feel as though we'll never get back. I wouldn't say that to anyone else, but dammit Rachel, I- I really feel just helpless and scared right now."

"Bellia, whatever happens, we'll get through it – all of us. Admiral Picard was captured by Cardassians years ago, and he made it through that. Something about 'four lights' or some such. If he was able to do it, so will we."

"What about 'four lights'?"

"The Cardassian in charge, Gul something-or-other was torturing him to try and make him say 'five lights', but Picard just kept saying 'four lights'. I remember learning about the case when I was going through my Advanced Tactical courses. We were all taught about just giving in if we were captured by any faction as Advanced as we were, since it was highly likely that they would get the information out of us anyways. Then some kid in the back asks about Picard, and how he managed to survive going through it, and the instructor basically told us that Picard was a fool to have held on. Well, I'm holding on, and so are you. Remember, Bellia, – four lights."

"Four lights, Rachel."

_Captain's Readyroom, USS _Enterprise, _23 December 2381_

"Admiral, I could have come to you. What do you need?"

"Nothing pressing, Data; I needed to get up to stretch my legs anyway. Any progress with decrypting the transporter signals?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so. Geordi and I have managed to trace the transporter signals to a location at the edge of the Joral system, and we have managed to pick up a faint warp trace from that location. I recommend sending the _Dauntless_ to perform a closer inspection of the area, and hope that we glean some additional information from it, sir. In fact, I was about to come see you anyway with the suggestion. May I offer you a cup of tea, sir?"

Nodding to the android, Picard sat in one of the guest chairs, on the other side of the Readyroom table than was usual for him. "Than my coming here seems to have been _fate_, Data. As it happens, it also seems that Commander Barclay has requested our presence in Main Engineering later on today; I don't know what it is about, but it appears as though he has invited half the senior staff from the fleet, so whatever it is, it should be good. Any ideas on what it is?"

Passing the steaming cup of tea to the Admiral, Data sat in the Captain's chair with a cup of tea for himself. "No, sir. Although I know that he has been communicating with Captain La Forge almost constantly during the past forty-six hours, so if you were to wish for more information, might I suggest that avenue of inquiry."

"No need, Data. I imagine we will find out this evening. In addition, I hear that you are scheduling a violin recital for tomorrow evening?"

Data looked nervous, and Picard smiled inwardly. _He's been practising his facial expressions_.

"Yes, sir. Although, if you believe there to be a more efficient use of my time...?"

"Data, I can't think of a more efficient use of your time than taking care of your crew's morale. Tomorrow is Christmas eve – everyone needs some time off. Beverly and I will, of course, be in attendance."

Data cocked his head to the side.

"Sir, if I may, would you permit me to ask a personal question?"

"Certainly, Data, go ahead."

"I have often observed, in the past, that when you refer to yourself and Doctor Crusher, you often use her formal title, as in 'Doctor Crusher' when speaking with a third party. You did not do so here, but instead referred to her as 'Beverly'. Is this due to the closeness between you two since engaging in a sexual relationship, or due to another factor?"

Picard sat back in the guest's chair, and thought about the comment, covering the action with a sip of tea. As usual, Data's quest for humanity often brought about an introspection in those that he saw as his guides, and Jean-Luc Picard was no exception to this fact. And, as always, Data put the question in a refreshingly blunt, yet thoughtful manner.

"I...suppose that my relationship with the Doctor has something to do with the more familiar mode of address, but...it's more than that. It is also is a function of who that third party is. Had you been a junior officer, or one with whom I am not as well acquainted, I would almost certainly have used a more formal mode of address. However, as I consider you one of my closest friends, I don't believe I have a problem referring to Beverly in that way. Unless you would prefer me not to do so?"

"Not at all, sir. I was simply curious, and I am pleased you think of me as such a friend around which you are able to be comfortable.. And, may I say, you two 'make a very handsome couple,' sir."

Picard smiled at his flag captain.

"Thank you, Data. May I use your computer for a moment?"

"Of course, sir."

"Picard to La Forge."

_"La Forge here, Admiral."_

"Please take the _Dauntless_ and travel to the location of the warp signature, collect as much data as you can, and return within the hour."

"_Aye aye, sir. La Forge out."_

"Thank you for your hospitality, Captain."

_Main Sickbay, USS _Enterprise_, 23 December 2381_

"Alyssa, bring the main isolation field on line, and assist me with this autopsy, would you?"

"Yes, Doctor Crusher. Who is it?"

"We're going to open up one of the M'loi killed in the attack. This'll be the first time I've ever seen a more or less intact one that wasn't beamed away with the rest of the attack force. I've already checked it for explosives, as well as viral or biological agents, but the containment field is there just in case."

Drawing on her surgeons gown and gloves, Beverly pulled the mask over her face, and stepped into the room. The reassuring hum of the containment field began moments later, and, facing the corpse on the table of the slightly reptilian being, Beverly inhaled through the mask's filter deeply, shaking off the disgust that she felt for the race of would-be conquerors that had taken hold ever since the beginning of the war.

"Computer, initiate visual and auditory logs of the procedure, and begin dictation."

_Cargo Bay 4, USS _Enterprise,_ 23 December 2381_

"I- uh, I am glad that all of you have been able to make it to this demonstration. I'd like to thank Captain La Forge for his assistance, since he helped with some of the power transfer problems, and I think it is only right that his assistance be noted as it provided some much needed, ah, assistance." Reginald Barclay was staring down a room full of Captains and XOs, not to mention a bunch of officers from the MACO regiments posted to the fleet.

_Why did I do this? And assistance twice? Come on, Reg, pull yourself together._

"Commander Barclay? It might be educational if you were to show us what you're talking about." Captain Data smiled at the engineer encouragingly.

"Uh, right, sir." Speaking into a commbadge, he waited a few seconds.

Those in the room looked around, not entirely sure what to expect, when, a moment later, in front of them, materialised a tall being, clad in black, with deep red optical lenses.

"During the, uh, the Dominion War, I was part of a team that the SCE put together to investigate the possibility of designing a suit of, um, of armour that would allow Starfleet and MACO personnel to engage in hand-to-hand combat with Jem'Hadar boarding parties on equal footing. The project failed due to power constraints, but, I believe, I've- we've managed to overcome that limitation through marrying M'loi power transfer technology with our own generation techniques."

The officers around the room looked dubiously at the black clad figure, many remembering the failures of powered armour in the past. Starfleet was never able to adequately protect or reinforce the suit to make the worsening of mobility offset by the protection that the armour was able to give.

"Sir, if you don't mind the question, how much protection will this suit provide to the wearer?"

"Well, uh, Colonel Harris, if my calculations were correct, it should be able to provide more or less total protection from most physical attacks, and at least partial protection from energy based weaponry. We've managed to miniaturise a small deflector field which should allow the wearer to shrug off most phaser beams, as well as M'loi compressors."

Harris looked dubious, and Barclay looked to the suit, which nodded its covered face.

"Colonel Harris, you are carrying your sidearm?"

The MACO nodded.

"Please, fire on the suit."

The eyebrows in the room shot up. Harris looked to Admiral Picard, who was standing straight. These sort of theatrics were generally frowned upon, and the Admiral was half tempted to quash the idea, but Barclay seemed sure of himself, and the operator of the suit was similarly sure.

Taking out his type-2 phaser, the Colonel looked at the Engineer.

"What setting should it be on?"

"Ah, I believe the, uh, the maximum setting on a type-2 phaser is 16, which emits a beam of approximately seven hundred megawatts, or, in a more illustrative description, enough to vaporise a solid cube of duranium measuring roughly three metres cubed after a half second of firing. That setting should, um, provide an adequate test. Fire when ready, Colonel."

Looking dubious, but receiving no counter orders from anyone else in the room, all of whom were entirely focused on the up coming demonstration, Harris keyed the setting on his phaser to maximum, and, with the indicator light glowing a menacing red, he pointed the weapon at the figure in front of him and touched the firing stud. The red lance of energy shot forth and struck the figure directly over the chest, splashing crimson throughout the cargo bay, and making people turn away from the bright light. Half a second later, the beam ceased, and the people in the cargo bay looked at the effects with a sense of dread.

Unbelievably, the black clad figure, while the suit was smoking from the intense heat, and he had been knocked to the floor from the intense electromagnetic forces exerted from so powerful an energy projection. However, the fact that the suit, and operator, was still there at all, and not dead, was an amazing feat of engineering. Rising from the floor, the suit rose from the floor, and stood, once again, straight.

Colonel Harris' mouth hung open. Many of the other MACO officers looked the same. Admiral Picard, with grim face, looked at the suit unblinkingly. Commander Barclay looked relieved, happy to see that the test, which he knew would happen, had occurred exactly the way that he had tested in Main Engineering early that morning.

"As you can see, the, uh, suit was able to redirect the vast majority of the energy into mostly harmless light, and the thermal shields incorporated into the material of the suit was able to protect the wearer from whatever energy was able to make it through. Sustained, high level energy fire will break through the shields, but they should provide adequate protection in most combat situations. Additionally, the suit incorporates a full sensor and targeting suite, linked directly into the operators brain through a MIU, or Mental Integration Uplink. Unfortunately, the technology is relatively recent, and therefore the suit needs to be, uh, keyed, more or less, to each individual wearer. A, uh, a process which takes several hours. However, at the conclusion of the process, the suit reacts to the wearer's impulses in much the same fashion as the wearer's own muscles, and at the same rate, allowing us to have implanted servo-motors into the suit itself. This should, uh, this should allow the suit to act as a strength as well as dexterity enhancement. If Captain Data would, uh, step right over here, I believe we can have a small demonstration of this."

Data cocked his head to the side, and, without saying a word, walked over to the small table that had been set up in the cargo bay.

"The most effective test of this would, uh, be an arm wrestle. We, uh, designed the suit to increase the strength of the wearer several times over. While I don't expect the suit to be able to best Captain Data or a Soong-type android in speed or strength, I believe the results will speak for themselves."

Kneeling down on the metal floor of the bay, the two rested their elbows on the table, and locked hands together. At the nod from Commander Barclay, both contestants began the dual. For more than ten seconds, Data was unable to best the suit, but, eventually, and after the dull hum of servos in the suit, the Captain bested the wearer. Everyone watching, including Data himself, were highly impressed. The MACOs, who had initially thought the whole event to be a waste of time, were talking excitedly amongst themselves, already seeing what use these suits would have on a modern battlefield.

"In addition to the strength and dexterity, the suit is equipped with onboard weaponry, all accessible through the MIU and visor targeting system. A, uh, a variant of the type-3 phaser rifle is the min armament, but a TR-116 solid projective rifle can be added as well. The phaser is implanted into the right arm, but that can be changed for left-handed people. This news caused the MACO officers in the room to clap appreciatively, and talk even more excitedly amongst themselves.

"Lastly, and, in my view, most impressively, the suit also contains a micro-transporter. The technology is new, and not widely tested, but the suit can transport itself, and its wearer up to three kilometres in good conditions, and at least one kilometre in almost any conditions. The suit has enough charge to do this once, and afterwards loses power on most on board systems, including the servo-motors. On transport, the servos disengage, allowing the wearer freedom of movement, but without any enhancement. The onboard weapons also lose effectiveness, limiting the phaser to largely low power settings, and the TR-116 loses self-replication. However, under normal circumstances, and without the use of the transporter, the suit contains enough power to maintain peak combat efficiency for up to one hundred and fifty hours, or a week of solid combat. The suit is also entirely self-contained so long as it is powered, providing the wearer with nourishment, hydration, and oxygen. We haven't tested it yet, but there is no reason why this suit couldn't operate fully in space."

Harris spoke up. "Other than the suit and the wearer, what is the transport limit of the system?"

"That, uh, that isn't something we've been able to test safely yet. My recommendation would be, uh, don't try to take anything with you. The micro transporter itself is a very new technology, and I'd not like to know what happens when something is only partially dematerialised."

Harris smiled and nodded at this. Even without the transporter, this suit was a huge leap in military technology, providing the first personal armour to be effective in centuries.

Another of the MACO officers piped in with a question. "How many of the suits are available?"

"Uh, currently? Just the one. The suits are hugely complex, and therefore cannot be simply replicated, but actually assembled. We can, if directed to, have maybe one hundred of them ready in about three months, if enough resources are put towards the project."

More excited chatter went up.

"Mister Barclay," the Admiral spoke quietly, "what does STAR stand for?"

"Starfleet Tactical Assault and Reconnaissance, sir."

The assembled officers in the room applauded the engineer, and his face, which had been a light shade of red, glowed crimson with humility at the sight of all of these senior officers applauding him.

"I really can't take all the credit, sirs. Captain La Forge was indispensible for the project to succeed."

Captain Data asked, "Where is Geordi? I am surprised he is not here."

"I am, Data! Almost beat you in an arm wrestle, too. Reg, come and give me a hand with the suit, I don't want to drop the chest piece."

"Uh, Captain, that chest piece took a blast from a phaser set to maximum. I, uh, I don't think the floor will break it."

Geordi laughed, and with a clang, the suit fell from his body, revealing a crumpled, but fully intact and unsigned uniform, and looked happily at Barclay.

"I'm really glad that the shields held."

_Main Compound, Yal'ak'at Prison, 23 December 2381_

"So, how are we going to escape?"

"Escape? What do you mean? We're...gods know where, with no means of transport, and surrounded – literally surrounded – by armed guards. Half of the prisoners are wounded, and the other half are _badly_ wounded. I don't think we can start planning an escape until we know a lot more about what we're dealing with."

Bellia Korax shook her head at the young ensign who asked the question. _I wonder if I was ever that impatient? Impetuous?_

Looking about her, she espied a small gathering of her fellow officers and drew closer.

"I think that if we just stormed the front gate, there isn't usually more than three or four of them stationed anywhere near that. We should be able to break through, find some weapons, and get the hell out of here."

Bellia shook her head as she joined the group.

"We can't go yet. Rachel, and about twelve others are unfit to even move at the moment."

"Then we leave them behind. It's our duty to get back and serve in this war, Lieutenant, and that's what we're going to do. Now, if you don't mind..."

"Actually, I do. Did you even hear what you just said? Abandon our wounded? What are we – Jem'Hadar? No, we go when we can all go, and that'll be when I say we can."

"And just who put you in charge, anyway? Unless you've been blinded, you can see that I have the same number of pips on my collar as you do – you aren't in charge, you just pretend that you are. Now, if you don't _mind_..."

"Mind what? You charging yourself at the gate and 'overpowering' the guards, all of whom have energy weapons? You're just going to get yourselves killed, and probably a lot of other people besides. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Listen, _sir_, sitting around here, waiting for a bunch of people who, frankly, probably aren't going to get better without real medical care and medicine, is a waste of bloody time, if you ask me. And while we're on that subject, you _didn't_ ask me, even though I match you in rank. This whole 'power trip' while were in this situation is pretty disgusting. I don't care if you're fucking the Admiral or whatever it is you and that other bitch do, you have no right to call the shots here. Go back to your friend, and leave the rest of us to do our duties, if you don't mind."

_Fine. If this is what I have to do, then so be it._

Grabbing a handful of the man's hair with one hand, and wrapping her other around his throat, she brought her foot out, and struck the inside of the man's leg, bringing him to one knee.

Bending close, she whispered in his ear just loud enough for the others in his group, who were now looking on with alarm, "I have special operations and combat training, as well as the best tactical training Starfleet affords to its post-graduate officers. Likely the only other person in this camp with training like that is Lieutenant Yerla, and if she had heard what you just said, she'd turn your insides into your outsides. If you talk back to me, or say _anything_ as demeaning as you just did, I will summarily charge you and indict you for insubordination and conduct unbecoming an officer, and that would be both my duty and a pleasure. Mister Malinche, you will now follow my orders – _if you don't mind_."

Loosening her grip on the man's throat enough for him to gurgle out an affirmative, she held on for a moment or two longer before releasing him. Addressing those who saw the event, she spoke in a tone that she hoped resembled that of the Admiral.

"We are still Starfleet, and this is still a combat situation. Starfleet regulations state that, in a combat situation, the officers of the highest rank _with the most combat training and experience_ shall lead. The chain of command must be respected if we are to survive in our present condition, and I am in command. Does anyone wish to dispute that?"

Seeing what happened to the last person to dispute that, no one moved a hair.

"Good. We will leave when I say we do, and not a moment before. And when we do leave, we leave with everyone, not just a few of us. We all go or we all stay, is that _completely_ understood?"

Again, the nodding of affirmative rippled throughout the room.

At that moment, the metal doors of the room opened, and a M'loi soldier walked in.

"You, come with me." The M'loi pointed at Rachel.

"She isn't well. If you need something done, take me instead-"

"No. The Perceptor has chosen her. You will have your turn soon enough. You, come."

Rachel looked at Bellia, and shook her head. Touching her on the arm lightly before being taken away, she let Bellia know.

_I'll be fine. Take care of yourself. Four lights, Bellia._

_Main Sickbay, USS _Enterprise, _24 December 2381_

Alyssa looked up from her station monitoring some of the wounded still in sickbay, and glanced into the CMO's office, where Doctor Beverly Crusher had yet to rise from her desk.

_She's going to work herself to death._

Alyssa went back to work, hardly looking up for the next ten minutes, and compiling the reports that she had to make on the progress of some of the more injured. A loud crash sounded, and she looked up quickly to see Doctor Crusher run out of the Sickbay, and into the corridor.

Alyssa couldn't leave the sickbay, so she tapped her commbadge.

"Ogawa to Crusher, what happened?!"

"_Can't talk now, Alyssa, I'm definitely late for something tonight. Hold the fort until I get back, ok? Doctor Selar is on duty, so you shouldn't have any problems."_

"All right, Doctor. Have fun tonight, and say hi to the Admiral for me!"

_"Will do, Aly- wait. Ahhhh, I guess I- never mind. Keep your gossip and speculation to yourself, young lady. I can have you in court martial in an instant." _

"I'll keep that in mind, Doctor. Have a good time." Alyssa smiled.

_Captain's Quarters, USS _Enterprise, _24 December 2381_

Racing towards the quarters she now shared with Jean-Luc, she glanced at a chronometer on the wall.

_1922 already? Hell, where did the day go...I've only got half an hour!_

The doors only barely opening in time to admit her without her having to batter then down, she raced for the sonic shower, lamenting the fact that she didn't have time for a more soothing and comforting real shower – with real hot water.

Stripping naked in less time than she ever had in her life, she jumped into the stall, and, informing the computer to, in rapid succession, 'turn on', 'damn it's eyes', and 'hurry the hell up', Beverly managed to get all the grim and stench of the morgue off of her in a matter of a minute, before making a mad dash for the bedroom, without even stopping to put a robe on.

Coming to a dead stop after spying something that she missed on the way in, her face burned with embarrassment, and her legs were ever so shaky as she retreated into the bedroom, and closed the door. Dressing quickly, she crept out of the sleeping quarters, and faced the music.

"Oh, I- um- hi, Will, Geordi, Worf. Deanna. I, uh, I'm a bit late to a violin- but, of, of course you guys knew that...I imagine you are here to meet up with, uh, us." Noticing the three people not addressed already, she picked out the one that she actually knew.

"I, uh- hi, Jean-Lu- I, uh, Admiral." The other two, a human female and Vulcan female, each with the rank of Lieutenant Commander, looked as awkward as each could contrive to be.

The group was silent as a grave.

"You know, Beverly-"

"Will Riker, if you have a comment about me being naked, _even the littlest comment_ about me being naked, so help me, I will end you."

"Well, I was just going to say 'Merry Christmas'..."

"Fine then, that's fin-"

"But damn, what a present for us all – and here I brought you nothing." He said with a smile, and laughed at the look of rage on her face.

This exchange sent the room into fits of laughter, and entirely dissolved the awkwardness that had existed only seconds before.

"Well, now. We have a quarter hour left to us before we should leave for Ten-Forward. Can I offer anyone a drink?"

The opportunity for authentic Picard wine, opened ten minutes earlier and thoroughly aired, was never one to pass up. Glasses were passed out, and conversation was enjoined over topics that ranged from personal interest to potential mates for the unattached in the group, Geordi and Worf. Talk of the war was implicitly banned for the evening, and all present were glad of it. During that time, she learned the identity of the two unknowns, and was pleasantly surprised and pleased at the inclusion of two female captains in a fleet predominantly commanded by males.

"So, Christine. Was becoming the captain of a Starfleet ship your goal when you join up, or...?"

"I, uh, never really thought I'd get this far to be honest. When I learned that the Admiral had chosen Tannar and I specially for this assignment, I couldn't even fathom the reasons behind it; then again, I didn't really want to. I was just pleased to get it."

"I, too, thought on the reasons behind it. I am still not certain as to why, but I am gratified that it occurred. It was always my intention to end up commanding a vessel, although I regret that it was during such a time as this."

Crusher nodded, happy that the Vulcan had not uttered the word 'war'. Thinking on the apparent two new members of their inner circle, whom William Riker had seemingly taken under his wing, the Doctor smiled at the friendship that was obvious between the two women, neither of who could be said to be anything like the other.

The Doctor had taken an immediate liking to Christine Grande: charming, exuberant, attractive, and sharp were the adjectives that came to mind during the fifteen minutes she had known her. Jean-Luc had chosen well, in her estimation, and Grande would be an effective leader, sure and decisive.

Tannar of Vulcan was a bit more of an enigma. Beneath the cool Vulcan exterior, Beverly detected a hint of wildness and pride. _Is there Romulan blood in there somewhere? _Beverly wondered on that, and wanted to try and get Tannar into her sickbay to find out at some point. Surety and composure were the qualities that Tannar had impressed upon the Doctor, and Crusher was confident that Tannar would make a fine addition to the fleet as well.

"This is the Admiral's own wine, is it not? It is fantastic, I must say."

"Yes, it is. Jean-Luc is very proud of his origins, and wine, as he says, flows through his veins. I often think that he is right in that regard, although it would be cold wine most of the time."

"I believe that you are making reference to the Admiral's famous _sang froid,_ are you not? It is most enlightening to be in the presence of one who was so intimate with Sarek of Vulcan. I am a great admirer of the late Ambassador."

Christine Grande snorted so hard that the excellent wine nearly came out of her nose.

"I'm sorry, 'intimate'?"

"Yes. Admiral Picard engaged in a mind-meld with the Ambassador shortly before his death, and then again with his son, Spock of Vulcan. To a Vulcan, sharing one's thoughts is the most intimate of acts. And to do so with one so revered is a great honour. The Admiral will have taken on some of the personality traits of Sarek as well as Spock, no doubt contributing to the emotional fortitude that he has displayed on so many occasions. You are very fortunate to be chosen as a mate by one so blessed, Doctor."

Now it was Beverly's turn to snort into her wine, and covered it with a cough.

"Tannar, how-? What do you mean, 'my mate'?"

"Are you and the Admiral not mates?"

"Are we- I... well, I- to most humans, that is a very personal ques- I don't really know how to-"

"Come on, Tannar, let's go get ready to leave, huh? It's about that time."

Crusher looked to Christine Grande with some relief in her eyes, cementing in the Doctor's mind her assessment of the woman.

Arriving as a group to Ten-Forward, the Admiral sat in his chair in the front row, and the assembly did likewise.

"Thank you all for coming. Tonight, the people of Earth will be celebrating Christmas. What started as a religious holiday has since turned into a largely secular one, but still maintained a moral message. Charity, giving, and kindness are all exemplified during this night, and all were called on to look to fellow humans for comfort and solace. The musical selections for tonight will all have something to do with this spirit of giving. I hope you all enjoy yourselves."

_Main Compound, Yal'ak'at Prison, 24 December 2381_

Bellia looked up as the great door slide open, and through it was pushed Rachel Yerla. Bellia felt a wave of relief flow through her until she saw the state her friend was in. Her clothes were gone, and blood laced her body where she had been whipped and beaten. Angry purple bruises formed all over her body, and her face was contorted in pain.

"Rachel! What- what happ-"

Reaching out a hand, she sought to touch the woman, and regretted it immediately.

Thoughts and images of what had happened, the abuse torture, the _violation_ of her body and mind, coursed through Bellia. The woman staggered back, unable to control her own feelings of revulsion, and vomited on the floor, gasping for air and feeling as though she had been kicked in the stomach.

"Rachel-! They- did they-?"

"Please, Bellia, don't touch me. They didn't even ask any question, they didn't- I can't control- I-," Rachel began falling forwards to the floor, and Bellia was unable – _unwilling_ – to catch her.

Bellia vomited again, and held her brow, attempting to steady herself. The M'loi soldier who threw in Rachel grabbed several of the other people in the room, both men and women, and they all looked rightly scared.

"You are wanted next for interrogation. Come."

_Four lights. Oh, gods, four lights._

Bellia watched helplessly as the next group was marched away.

_What do I do? I'm their leader._

_ What the hell do I do?_

_ We need your help, Papa. Please._

_Ten-Forward, USS _Enterprise_, 24 December 2381_

Jean-Luc felt a chill run down his back, and reached out to take Beverly's hand, silently squeezing it, and rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. Beverly looked to her right, and saw, on his face, a tear.

"What is it, Jean-Luc?"

He shook his head. "After."

She squeezed his hand back, trying to show him that she would give him support and love no matter what. The concert went on for another hour.

At the conclusion of it, every member of the audience shot to their feet and applauded loudly. Data, being a perfect player, had purposely added a few mistakes to his performance, and the those in attendance loved it.

"Captain, that was lovely. I enjoyed you interpretation of Mozart's eleventh sonata especially. What gave you the idea to play it on the piano?"

"I am not sure, Admiral. I 'felt' as though it was appropriate for this performance and believed that Mozart was a good embodiment of winter, and the Human celebration of Christmas. I am pleased that you 'enjoyed' yourself so much. The festivities will continue for approximately another hour and thirty minutes. Please, enjoy yourselves more."

The rest of the night passed amicably, Jean-Luc making the rounds to as many of the officers in attendance as possible during the time. He spent a good deal of his attention on Commander Barclay, congratulating him once again on the breakthrough demonstrated during the previous day. He bobbed his head gratefully, took the Admiral's hand, and smiled widely. Christine Grande was making herself very popular with the male officers in attendance, and tried more than once to set Tannar up with the more attractive or interesting in the group, something which the Vulcan politely turned down at every turn.

After making small talk, and entirely avoiding the subject of the war, Picard moved to find Beverly, and, excusing himself into the conversation, took her hand and lead her out of the doors and into the hallway.

"Now, Jean-Luc, tell me what's been on your mind. Please?"

"I- uh, I don't know where to begin. It would usually be Counselor Troi who I would talk to about this, but..."

"Now you talk to me about these sorts of things. Unless...?"

"Unless?"

"Unless it's about me, Jean-Luc? Would you feel more comfortable talking to Deanna about it?"

"No, no. It isn't about you, Beverly. It's – it's been two weeks since my Lieutenants were taken, and, even though we've been trying to find them, I find myself restless. They – they'd became a part of my life, and it is most unpleasant not having them around. I almost feel...I don't know. I almost feel like-"

"Like a father to them?" She felt her own eyes moisten at the thought, knowing the pain of seemingly losing a family member. She, too, felt that way about the two young women, and enjoyed living with them. She had been unable to enter their room since they were taken.

The Admiral meekly nodded, unable to trust himself to open his mouth.

"We'll get them back, Jean-Luc. Come hell or high water, we'll get them back."

_And make the bastards who took them pay dearly for it._

He gave a rueful laugh, and shook his head.

"How many of our forbearers promised the wars to be over by this time of year? How many have said 'our boys'll be home for Christmas'? And how many of them were wrong?"

Beverly couldn't say anything to that, and just moved to hold him tight.

"Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc." Her hand cupped his face, and her face brushed his.

_Merry Christmas, my dear. _She thought, and kissed his salted tears away.

A/N: Sorry for the darkness of some of the parts of this chapter. This is the bottom of the pit for Bellia and Rachel - don't worry. It's all uphill from here.

I know most people will be publishing Christmas stories, and, while I was initially resistant to the idea, I think it worked well for what feelings I was hoping to impart to the story. For those of you who will be celebrating, merry Christmas. For all those who won't be, merry Christmas all the same.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Chief Engineer's Quarters, USS _Enterprise_, 31 December 2381_

"All right, a little...a little more...a _little_ more...there! Stop!"

Commander Reginald Barclay was putting his finishing touches on the masterpiece. Taking him way too long as it was, he was sure it was going to be perfect. It _had_ to be perfect – he had spent too much time on it already. If he we're to fail – well, he didn't even want to know what the consequences would be.

"Come _on_. It doesn't need to be perfect. It's just a punch table. If people are really looking at the table placement when they are grabbing a glass of punch, then I'll defer to you next time – but I promise they won't be. We've got more to do..."

"But, Shayna, if people bump against the table while walking through, and it isn't at just the right angle, it could splash onto the table – or worse!"

"'Or worse'? Reg – it's punch. If it spills, we can make more – or even _gasp_ replicate more. Don't worry!"

Reg stood up from kneeling beside the table, and, biting his lip in concern, stepped away from the offending piece of furniture. It just didn't look right – but he was willing to let it go. Shayna Heim was a special person, and special people, he knew, deserve to be listened to, even when they were wrong.

"All right. All right, then, I'll leave it. What else needs to be done?"

The fair haired woman looked around at the quarters, and nodded in satisfaction. Snacks had been set on tables throughout the room, and glasses and bottles had been placed on the main dining table in one of the corners. Decorations were put up, and soft music was wafting through the air like so many dreams.

"No, you wonderful man, I think that is everything. Well, almost everything..."

"Shayna...we can't! The guests will be arriving in less than ten minutes! It's already 2152 hours!"

"Actually, I told everyone to be here for 2230 hours, just so you'd rush to get things ready. And," she said in a seductively low voice, "I told everyone not to be early. We have time."

Reg couldn't say anything. It had only been recently that he had found the courage to ask the MACO out on a date. To his pleasant surprise, she was a strong and opinionated woman, more than capable of making many of the small decisions in her life, and providing input into his – without being pushy. Pushing him into the bedroom of his quarters, she began to undress the _Enterprise's_ Chief Engineer.

_Now, though, now...she's being pushy._

_And that's pretty ok._

_Admiral's Quarters, USS _Enterprise_, 31 December 2381_

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard looked about him. The quarters were in excellent shape, and very few things were out of position. Sighing loudly, he looked about again, straining to see something that he could fix – something that he could make a difference, however slight, with. Seeing nothing, his sigh grew louder.

"What is it, Jean-Luc?"

He looked about with a start, spying the woman who made his legs turn to mush walk through the doors to their quarters. He noticed her pointedly not looking to the left, towards the room of his two lieutenants.

_Who could be anywhere – who could be dead – who could be..._

Seeing the look in his eyes, she came to him.

"Jean-Luc, worrying about them won't make them come home safer or faster. You're doing all you can, my dear."

"It's simply that, well, it seems that I am no longer able to do anything, no longer able to make the differences that I once was. During the finght, IJ was pushed under the table, and told to stay out of the way. Before that, you needed to come rescue me. I – I don't know, I'm sounding childish, aren't I?"

Beverly looked at him with love in her eyes. _How could he be so smart and yet be so blind?_

"Jean-Luc, you were pushed under the table because your lieutenants had a job to do, and they did it. Bellia and Rachel knew that to be a flag-lieutenant, especially for an Admiral such as you, engendered a certain amount of risk. I love them, and I want to see them home and safe, but I know that, if it was you who had been taken or killed, and they had survived, they'd be heartbroken. Their feelings towards you are not just of duty or official concern, but of love. They worship you, Jean-Luc, as does almost everyone on this ship and in this fleet. This isn't about you being 'useless' or 'helpless', but of you now being the one who needs to make it through. Now, I'm certainly not saying that everyone but you is expendable – but your life isn't your own anymore. The thousands of people in this fleet depend on you to stay alive and in control, and I know Bellia and Rachel, wherever they might be, and whatever state they might be in, have at least some measure of peace because they know you're all right. Now, why don't we celebrate New Years..."

A loud sigh escaped the Admiral's lips.

"...and when midnight rolls around, I'll be sure to be in a dark corner somewhere."

_Captain's Quarters, USS_ Titan,_ 31 December 2381_

"Deanna! Where is my tie? I just had it here somewhere..."

"On the bed underneath your coat. And why in the name of Betazed are you dressing up in that monkey suit?"

"'Monkey suit'? '_Monkey suit'?_ This, Deanna, is a replica of a 1940's Zoot Suit – complete with a feather in my hat! How can you even resist me when I'm in this...I really don't know."

Deanna, herself, was still in her bathrobe after exiting the shower. They had been invited – and accepted – an invitation from Reg Barclay to a New Years Eve party in his quarters. She was looking forward to it – not only because Reg was a dear friend of hers, but also because the grapevine had told her that a MACO had laid a bit of a claim on the Engineer, and from all accounts was a strong and attractive woman, the kind that Deanna had always suspect Reg of being able to attract.

"Anyway, I think this'll make a statement for the people at the party."

"Oh? And what, Captain, would that statement be?"

"That I'm a fun lovin' guy!"

Deanna rolled her eyes – but she certainly appreciated the way the suit hung off him.

"What are you going to be wearing anyway?"

"Oh, I was thinking of my wedding dress."

"I thought we got rid of that...?"

Deanna smiled, "my Betazoid wedding dress."

Will's mouth hung open, and then he began to laugh as she took her robe off, and sauntered over to him.

"Uh, uh, uh. No touching! Do you know how long it took me to get my hair and beard right?!"

"Uh huh, and what about the look on my face says I care at all? Outta the suit, zoot boy."

_Chief Engineer's Quarters, USS _Enterprise,_ December 31 2381_

"Shayna...we've got to go get ready now! It's already quarter past! People will start to arrive in less than ten minutes...we've got to shower and get dressed..."

Shayna sighed, and stretched languorously in the bed she shared with her lover. Her arms were raised above her head, and her breasts were being displayed for the enjoyment of the man who was currently laying beside her, looking around.

"All right. Go have you shower."

Getting up from the bed, the nude man traipsed his way awkwardly into the bathroom. He was well muscled and formed, and Shayna had no complaints about anything his body at all – in fact, she couldn't quite figure out where is self-consciousness came from in regards to him being nude.

Hearing the water turned on in the bathroom, she crept her way out of bed, and, looking at the chronometer that read '_2216'_, she smiled to herself, and went into the bathroom. Pulling back the door that opened into the luxurious shower stall, she ran her hand down Barclay's back, causing him to turn around and see her naked form before him. She held a questioning look on her face.

"Once more?"

Reg couldn't respond with anything other than a mute nod of his head, and it was not long before their moans echoed throughout the room.

Deanna put her hand out in front of Will before they made it to Barclay's quarters.

"Shall we go see the Admiral and Beverly first?"

"What? Why? I would imagine they are coming tonight. Let's just go in-"

"No. I really think we should go get them first. Come on, Will."

Used to the whims of his wife, Riker nodded his head, and, setting off towards the turbolift, Deanna let out a breath. _Well, that would have been awkward. But – well done, Reg._

_Admiral's Quarters, USS _Enterprise_, 31 December 2381_

"One moment!" The stentorian voice of their old Captain boomed through the door.

Will and Deanna waited for a few moments, before ringing the chime again. A strong voice again, but this time feminine – the voice of their old doctor, tinged with laughter. After a last loud giggle from the woman in the room, the practised-stern voice of Picard came through.

"Come."

The two doors opened to reveal a clean and well ordered room, apart from a dingle pillow from the couch which had been thrown to the floor at some point. It did not require an empath to pick up on the feelings of the two whom Deanna and Will loved dearly – and what the two of them had been interrupted in doing, or about to be doing.

"Uh, sorry for interrupting, Admiral, but we were wondering if you were to be attending the party in Reg's quarters tonight?"

"Not interrupting, Will. Beverly and I were-"

"...talking..."

"...talking, and yes, we'd love to join you..."

"...yes, we would."

The two sitting on the couch were casting furtive eyes at each other, and Riker was feeling like he had interrupted more than just some talking.

"Well, in that case, Deanna and I should go help Reg set up. You and Beverly will be along in...?"

"We'll be right behind-"

"In fifteen minutes or so. You and Deanna go along." Beverly elbowed the Admiral rather pointedly, but also invisibly to their two friends.

"Right. Well...uh, we'll see you." Riker turned and left, taking Deanna with him.

When they had finally gotten out of the room, Will turned to Deanna.

"Why didn't you stop us from going in there? It was pretty obvious what they were doing..."

Deanna frowned at Will.

"Well, yes, after we got in. Both of them, I have to say, have remarkably strong minds. I didn't actually sense anything until we were inside."

Riker looked back at the door, and smiled. "Fifteen minutes?"

"I'd give them twenty. Now, come on, lets go see if Reg needs a hand."

Letting the water of the shower bead and drop from his warmed body, Admiral Jean-Luc Picard heaved a sigh of relief. The activities of the past half an hour sated, but never removed, his hunger for the woman before him, and as he moved his hands over her skin, he could feel that hunger coming to the surface once more.

"Jean-Luc? You cannot be serious...you can't. I'm a doctor, and there is no way you could be aroused again...it's been, what, five or ten minutes..._ahhhh"_

Jean-Luc's hands found tender spots on her body and assaulted them mercilessly.

"I note, Beverly, that you, too, are not exactly in a state of calm..."

"Females...don't have...a...cool down...time...like _men-"_ Her eyes closed as she moved back into him, rubbing her body against his, soft moans being elicited by the expert ministrations of her lover's fingers.

"Bu..but we've got to go...soon..._mmm_," her voice dropped as her hands played about his neck, "don't stop, Jean-Luc, don't dare stop...but move...a little to_...there."_

The Admiral's hands began to move swifter and swifter, and his fingers probed ever deeper into the soft flesh found at the Doctor's centre, his own arousal being fuelled by the feelings that he knew he was causing in her. Her moans increased in volume slightly, but he could hear the strain, as though she were holding back. Her breath came in shudders, like metal caught in a powerful magnetic field.

_My, god, this woman. She turns me on just by being near, just by being turned on herself. _

The Doctor's own hands moved down, and followed his torso until finally reaching his own chief erogenous zone, the cool water of the shower contrasting deliciously with the warmth she felt there. She felt him shiver as her own hands began to massage the hardening manhood there.

_Well, now...that is a compliment I can't help but take._

Working faster and faster, and a few minute later, she felt a familiar trembling in her stomach. Looking up and into his eyes, she felt the first waves of pleasure flow over her body, but she managed, through great effort, to continue her own pleasuring of him. She generally had, from the moment of the first waves, to being completely out of it in ecstasy, around ten or twenty seconds. Wanting him to join her in orgasm, she began to fondle his erection more urgently, and was gratified to feel that he was not far from the edge. She could swear that she felt electricity arc between then, so charged was the passion they each shared for one another. Finally, unable to hold on any longer, she leapt headlong into the maelstrom that she could see and feel before her.

Willing him to follow her, she called out to him.

_"__Jean-Luc!"_

Hearing his name so spoken by this woman caused light to blossom in Picard's mind, and the convulsions of his own climax began to wash over his body. Gasping into her neck, he felt himself release, and could hear her do the same, the fingers of his left hand kneading the soft flesh of her breast as she whimpered and moaned endearments into his ear, each one from her heart.

_"__My dear, my love, my honey."_

They held one another for many moments after, enjoying the feeling of each other on their heated skin, the water cooling off the fires that had so recently raged in both of them - there was no thought to rinsing off the sweat and passion of the other. He looked up when he heard the soft laugh of his love in his ear.

"Jean-Luc, do you have any idea how much I'd like to stay in tonight? No, I know we can't, but...," she kissed him tenderly, with lips sweet with love, on the mouth, "I don't think I've ever been like this with any other man. I just wanted to let you know that, dearest."

Picard's hand came up to her chin and pulled her into another loving kiss.

"You have no idea how much I'd like that, too."

Staying entwined in the shower for what might have been seconds or minutes, they eventually got out and, helping one another dry off, got dressed in simple attire, and left to join their friends and comrades welcome a new year. Walking, hands entwined to the great joy and smiles of all they passed, they walked up to and through the door to the Chief Engineer's quarters.

_Chief Engineer's Quarters, USS _Enterprise_, 1 January 2382_

_"10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!"_

Cheers erupted from those assembled, and kisses were exchanged. A ripple of laughter went throughout the room when Will Riker cleared his throat to break up the kiss between Reginald Barclay and Shayna Heim. When this didn't work the first time, he did so again, in a theatrically loud manner, before Reg was finally allowed to come up for air.

"You know, everyone: Reg used to be quite the social turtle, hiding in his shell whenever anyone or anything would come near. Then, of course, his I.Q. was raised over a thousand, saved the ship and countless lives, and brought us to an unknown part of space to meet with some of the nicest aliens we had ever met!"

Geordi laughed, "you also left out Reg practically rewriting our theoretical limits on warp engine efficiency and mechanics."

Riker smiled at his friend, "to true. So, to our gracious host for the evening, Reg Barclay. A truer friend you could not find!"

The room raised their classes, and with repeated calls of "good man," and "to Reg!" the room finally quieted down, and Geordi spoke.

"And, in the tradition of Engineers the fleet over, I'd like to present Reg with a token of the _Dauntless_' esteem."

Handing a PADD over to the man who was smiling like a jester, and whose cheeks gleamed with a rosy red from the champagne, Geordi stepped back.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, I can't see."

"It looks like a PADD...?"

Reg read over the PADD, and looked up, smile as wide as ever.

"These are the _Dauntless_' warp engine efficiency ratios. .966? Capt- Geordi, that's really spectacular!"

"I know, Reg. That's why I brought them. Now you have something to aim for on this ol' rust bucket."

Data spoke up, "Captain La Forge is apparently not aware, however, the intermix chamber on the _Dauntless _is .033 behind the _Enterprise_ in efficiency."

The room quieted down as Geordi glowed red.

"Really? You manage to get it up to .993?"

"Y-yes, sir. I was going to send that over to you last week, but with everything going on and-"

La Forge laughed loudly, and clapped the fair-skinned man on the back.

"Reg – it's all right! Well done, by the way," casting his eyes to Shayna, who looked splendid in a black dress, "on everything you've accomplished here. I couldn't have wish more for you."

"So, that's Admiral Picard?"

"What?" Worf turned to see Lieutenant Commander Grande beside him.

"That's Admiral Picard?

Worf drew himself up in pride. "Yes, that is he."

"He...looks kinda old, actually."

Scowling, Worf turned to the woman. "He is. He is over eighty years old."

Christine Grande bit her bottom lip, looking apprehensive.

"You look discommoded. What is the problem?"

"He just...I don't know. He looks old. Frail? Maybe it's because I've thought of him as a hero for so long – finally meeting him..."

Worf set himself squarely, and looked at the woman beside him.

"I have known beings who have underestimated Admiral Picard in the past, either stemming from a personal loss, or from believing him to be old and frail – the El-Aurian, Tolian Soran, the Borg Queen, Ru'afo of the Son'a, Praetor Shinzon of Remus. Gul Madred thought he could break him in mind and spirit, as did DaiMon Bok. None of them succeeded, and all were slain. The M'loi shall be no different, and Admiral Picard will triumph over them as he always has."

"But how can you be sure?"

Worf smiled.

"His tactics are bold and decisive, and his strategies are subtle and far reaching. Go into battle with him, watching him bring about the destruction of his enemies, and you will never have doubts about him again."

Grande nodded, and watched Worf move off. She watched as a tall red-headed woman walked over to her, and smiled.

"Hello, you must be...Christine Grande?"

"That's right."

"Hi, Christine, I'm Beverly Crusher. How are you enjoying the get together?"

_Where have I heard that name before? I know I've heard that name..._

"Well enough, thank you. It's been a while since I've been in the presence of so many senior officers, though. I think I may have drank a little too much."

The older woman laughed, a pleasant, chiming sound.

"Well, that is what New Years is all about. I've had a few, myself, so don't feel too bad. I don't think anyone here is entirely sober, so it's a good chance to get to know people, I think. How are you enjoying the _Odysseus_?"

Christine eyed this woman closer. Her flaming red hair was certainly the first thing you noticed about her, but it was her eyes that stuck with you – blue and piercing, humourous, but also sagely. Running her eyes over the face and body of the woman, Christine gleaned so more information about her. She was older than Grande, certainly, _but by how much?_ She obviously take very good care of herself. _She must have a fantastic doctor._ Her breasts were generous, and well shaped by the clothes she had on, and her legs were very well toned. _An athlete – or dancer? Certainly an attractive woman._

"I'm enjoying it fine., thanks. It took a little getting used to be in command, but I think I've settled in well."

The older woman laughed once more, and nodded slightly.

"I remember being in command for the first time. I've never had a ship of my own, but sitting in the big chair, middle of the bridge. There are few feelings like that. I might have enjoyed command, but medicine will always be-"

"You're Doctor Crusher! I knew I knew your name from somewhere!" Realisation hit Christine Grande like a thunderclap, and her smile brightened.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It was perhaps immodest of me, but I thought – well, I thought most people in the fleet knew who I was." The Doctor's face flushed a slight red.

"No- no, it's ok. I did know who you were, but I wasn't thinking straight – I haven't had real alcohol in such a long time, I guess it's gone to my head. So...you're the Admiral's...?" The smile on Christine Grande's face was on the lecherous side.

"...friend?" Beverly's face matched Christine Grande's. She had drunk a few too many glasses, and since Deanna was being taken up in a conversation with Reg and Shayna, Beverly felt like being a bit _looser_ on the gag order.

Beverly sniggered_, gag order._

"I've heard it to be a bit more than that, Doctor. I've heard that...well..."

"Well what, Commander?"

"You two were..." The Lieutenant Commander was blushing furiously, and was very grateful when a strong voice broke through the crowd –

_"__Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind?"_

The strong, clear voice of the Admiral was soon joined by those around him, and before long, the entire room erupted into the chorus:

_"For auld lang syne, my dear,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne!"_

For a few moments, those in the room looked about fondly at each other, remembering the trials of the past year, and the hopes for the new year. Beverly strode towards him, and taking him by the chin, planted a kiss on the man's lips, to the wild cheers of those in the room.

She broke away, and whispered softly into his ear so that only he could hear.

"I have a few resolutions of my own this year, Jean-Luc. You're one of them."

The Admiral blushed, but smiled widely, and caught the eye of Riker, who arched his eyebrows in interest.

The next half an hour passed without incident, with beings from all over the Federation mingling, singing, laughing, and having a merry time.

So few people noticed a young Ensign wander through the room, and make directly for the Admiral, who was standing with Beverly, Deanna, Will, and Data.

"Sir? The OW asked me to hand this to you directly...?"

"Thank you, Ensign, let me-"

Picard's eyes widened, and a wolfish smiled played on his lips as he read what was written on the PADD with eyes alight with flames.

"Jean-Luc? What is it?"

"We've found them. We've found the prisoner camps. A place called _Yal'ak'at. _Around fifty hours away at high warp, three star systems away. Beverly, can you please administer analcohol to the senior staff. Ensign, I want a briefing in ten hours, alert the Captains, and Colonel Harris to meet in the Observation deck at that time."

"Aye, sir!"

The young man rushed off in search of his prey. Beverly's eyes connected with Jean-Luc's, and she smiled.

"You'll bring them home, Jean-Luc."

"We'll damned well try, Beverly."

_Oberservation Lounge, USS _Enterprise_, 2 January 2382_

"Well, sir. I respectfully disagree. We cannot guarentee the safety of the prisoners if we were to launch a full out attack in space. Instead-"

Colonel Harris was cut off by the captain of the _Jalgur, _a man named Halam.

"Colonel, we don't have the manpower nor the strength to launch a ground attack. If long range reports are any indication, there is over two hundred M'loi stationed on the moon, and they are entrenched. It would be throwing away lives to send in ground troops without hitting them from orbit first."

"And if the M'loi use the prisoners as a bargaining chip, what then?" The Captain of the _Goliath_ added. Beverly Crusher spoke next.

"Or worse, begin to execute them if they start losing ground?"

"With all due respect, Doctor, you are hardly a military authority. The M'loi tactics-"

"..included inserting bombs into the bodies of our wounded in an attempt to kill the medical personnel on our ships, Captain. I am well acquainted with their tactics, thank you."

Picard held up a hand, silencing the argument around the table. The briefing had been going on for most of the evening, with information regarding the outpost, as well as tactical assessments and resource allocation. The Admiral was becoming quickly tired of it all, and they seemed to be getting nowhere.

"Captain Halam's points are well taken, but the Colonel is correct. This is a rescue operation, not a punitive one. If we wanted to simply destroy them, we'd bomb them from orbit without issue, but we can't. Now, some of you were present at Commander Barclay's demonstration of the STAR armour, and some of you weren't. In short, the suits should allow for a small team to infiltrate the installation prior to the attack, and disrupt the defences from the inside, while also maintaining the safety of the prisoners."

We are at present," Picard glanced at the chronometer on the table, "thirty six hours away from the target. Commander Barclay assures me that, with sufficient resources put towards the project, and enough aide from other engineering teams, perhaps five or six suits could be made ready in time for the attack. To that end, I am ordering Commander Barclay to do so, and Colonel Harris, put together a team of your best special forces soldiers, and allow them crash training on the suits. Captain La Forge, please assist Colonel Harris in this endeavour, as I believe you are the most experienced person with the suits thus far. All other Captains, please return to your ships, and the order of battle will be relayed to you once we are closer to the prison colony. Make it so."

The assembly got up from the table and thanked the Admiral for his hospitality while filing. Several stayed behind, including Beverly Crusher, Riker, Data, Geordi, Worf, and Colonel Harris.

"Sir, does this mean that we are abandoning the Joral system?"

"Indeed, Will. This system was only intended as a hiding place until reinforcements arrived. As you are here, it is time to move on. We should have the ships to break through, and then begin out travel back to inner Federation territory."

"Then what, sir?" Geordi asked.

"Then we win the war, Geordi." Picard said with a smile.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter XIV

_(Author's note: military ranks and naval ranks are similar in spelling and pronunciation, but not in command authority. MACO (army) lieutenants rank the same as Starfleet (navy) ensigns, MACO captains would rank the same as Starfleet lieutenants, and MACO colonels rank the same as Starfleet captains.)_

_Perimeter Cordon, Yal'ak'at Prison, 4 January 2382_

"Thunder."

"Lightning."

The black clad figures nodded to one another. During the moon's night cycle, it was difficult to make out specifics on the other person, even through the improved optics afforded by the STAR armour.

"Captain, I believe the entire team is assembled. My scans indicate that the installation is eight kilometres to the north."

"How many made it through the jump?"

"No casualties, sir. Corporal Allen bumped his knee, but that's the worst of it. Saws took a look at it, and it seems to be fine."

"Good. Lieutenant Gorran?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Take team one and scout ahead. You are not to engage any targets without my authorization, is that clear? Stay low, stay hidden."

"Yes, sir."

MACO Captain Shayna Heim looked about her. The moon was very dark, and only the occasional plume of heat from the many magma vents was picked up by the thermal imagining of the helmet. Checking her arm mounted type-3 phaser, she took comfort in knowing that it was personally checked by Reg right before they left.

She smiled at the thought of him, so nervous, but so brilliant. She always felt as though she was too domineering, too in-control for any man to find her attractive, but there was Reg Barclay. He actually seemed to like having control taken from him.

_Certainly at times, that's for sure..._

Shaking her head from the thoughts racing unbidden through it, she returned to the land of reality, and reality said that there was a clear and present danger to her and her team. Infiltrating a fortress full of M'loi soldiers, and making sure that the didn't start shooting prisoners when the fight turned against them in space. The 132nd Fleet was due in system within five hours, meaning Shayna had to be in position before then – but not much before then. Heim knew that seven soldiers, even in these nifty suits, would not be able to hold out again the dozens of M'loi inside the facility for long.

The plan went like this: Picard would take the fleet in and hold them in place while a smaller squadron, made up of two _Sabre-_class ships and a _Defiant-_class would come in from a different direction, and begin transporting as many of the prisoners as they could. The whole ground operation should take less than an hour from infiltration to exfiltration – but an hour was a damned long time to be getting shot at. Checking the chronometer on the HUD, she sighed quietly to herself and spoke to the team.

"Right. We've a bit of a jog ahead of us – let's move out."

_Main Bridge, USS _Enterprise_, 4 January 2382_

"This is Admiral Picard. Prepare to take the fleet out of warp. Stay to your assigned lead ships. Good hunting, 132nd."

"Red alert. All hands to battle stations. Tactical, please display a visualization of the M'loi fleet positions." Data looked to the tactical officers, who quickly carried out his orders.

The M'loi fleet was large, but scattered throughout the system. Coming out of warp, the viewscreen held a picture of a rocky moon, surrounded by spacedocks and satellites, ships and stations. Picard watched as Starfleet ships moved off with their assigned squadrons, spitting fire and flames wherever they went. Blue explosions erupted out of the M'loi ships as their plasma ignited, caught unaware by the surprise attack on their penal colony. Picard watched as a mighty M'loi battleship, so menacing when on the attack, shuddered and broke apart from the hail of fire it was receiving from the smaller Starfleet ships, easily able to dodge the lumbering beast's return fire.

"Picard to Archangel squadron. Proceed with your mission."

"Aye, sir." The low voice of Worf lent its strong reassurance to the Admiral.

"Good luck, Archangel. Picard out."

_Prisoner's Compound, Yal'ak'at Prison, 4 January 2382_

"Come."

Looking despondently about her, Bellia looked at the downcast and sombre expressions of those around her.

"You, too. Get up."

The brute pointed to Rachel, who got up. Wearily, she swayed on her feet, and Bellia reached out to her with a steadying hand. Despite the warning look from the telepath, Bellia still placed her hand on the other woman's wait, giving her physical support while attempting to also bolster her mental and emotional bulwarks. Three weeks of torture, rape, and pain and death. Many had died of wounds in the Prisoner's Compound, at first a horrifying experience, but no more. Now, the sight of one of them dying was a cause for jealousy, as though the other had done their duty, and now moved to a well deserved rest, away from the stink and filth of the camps.

The emotions and feelings shared between the two were strong, but reassuring. It was almost better to be taken in together. Through the pain, through the torture, they could look to one another. They would give each other strength.

"Come with us. The commandant awaits."

The guards marched heavily behind the two bedraggled women, occasionally nudging them painfully in the small of the back, jarring them along the low corridor. Arriving finally at a large set of metal doors, the two Starfleet women touched hands, each reassuring the other of their continued presence.

_Whatever comes._

"Eliminate threats silently, and then move on. From preliminary scans, the main prisoner hold is here, with subcamps here and here. The main compound is our primary target, and we'll need to get everyone from the secondary sites into the main one to effectively set up the transport enhancers. Gorran, go with Allen to this camp, and get everyone – Starfleet or not – into the main site. J'arg, take Hertz to this camp, and same deal – everyone comes. Yall and Chan, you're with me, and we'll take and secure the main camp and set up temp defences. Go."

Splitting off into the groups, Heim watched as both of the smaller teams went their ways, and she led hers through the small hole in the wall of the compound they had made. Low to the ground, she proceeded down a long corridor, and checked her advance when she heard movement ahead. Gesturing to the two behind her, she crept forward, and saw that a guard had stepped into what looked like a toilet, and had begun to relieve himself. Still crouching low, she made her way into the room, and, taking his head between her arms, quickly twisted it until his neck snapped with a soft _pop_, and the body went limp, falling to the floor in front of her.

Shayna remembered the first time she had ever taken a life with her own hands. Not with a phaser or rifle, but with a simple combat knife. It had been a messy affair, and she had nearly died during the struggle. She remembered what it had felt like, desperately thrusting the blade between the ribs of the man she was fighting, and how surprised she was at the amount of resistance the knife had encountered. Watching old films, she had been led to believe that the human body readily accepted the edge of the assailant's knife, and that once penetrating the body, it lead to a swift death.

It had not.

The man had not died well, and he lay, gasping breath into rattling lungs for a minute before finally expiring. It had been a harrowing experience to say the least, but Shayna had gotten over it. Now she was an efficient killer, and these suits made the business of breaking necks far too easy for her to be comfortable with it.

Walking out of the room, she nodded to her companions, and continued her way down the hall.

_Main Bridge, USS _Defiant,_ 4 January 2382_

"Tactical situation?"

"I'm sorry, sir. There are at least five cruisers holding station over the planet in close orbit. They're going to detect us the moment we move within half a million kilometres."

Worf growled softly. _Why aren't they moving off?_

"Very well. Worf to _Archangel_ squadron. There are five ships maintaining orbit over the planet. They will need to be destroyed if we are to complete the mission that the Admiral gave to us. Form tight on the _Defiant_, and coordinate fire with us."

A pair of confirmations came through the comm from the two younger officers.

"Engage, helm, full impulse."

Cutting through space like swords, the three small ships wove their way around the debris as they got closer and closer to the planet. The tactical displays noted that the five ships in orbit had begun to move in to formation and head towards them.

"Reinforce the forward shields. Prepare to fire on the lead ship, and target their main impulse engines."

When the ships had come close enough to make out the markings on their hull, the roar of the phaser banks began, filling the void with light and energy. The yellow and red of the bolts contrasted with the blue of the torpedoes streaking towards their target, and the first two ships shattered under the fusillade, and were left burning in space. The rear three immediately broke formation, and adopted a more respectful attitude towards the small Starfleet ships. Taking time to form up is precisely what they should have done, and they did.

"All forward phasers, now!"

The deadly barrage once again roared out from the _Defiant's_ weapon arrays, joined by the vengeful hatred of the other ships with her. Another M'loi cruiser began to burn in space, joining in the orbital graveyard that was forming.

"Tactical update from the main fleet, sir. Admiral Picard has broken through the picket line. Reports of over a dozen M'loi ships either crippled or destroyed, and none of the 132nd have taken more than a scratch...make that fifteen downed, sir."

Worf nodded. The attack was going well – and no surprise. As distasteful as his former CO was of combat, the Klingon knew that he would be hard pressed to find a better tactician or strategist, even from the annals of Klingon legend. Picard had prepared the fleet during the short travel time to execute complex manoeuvres in a split second. Worf almost pitied anyone who was to go up against the 132nd.

"Bring us around, and keep the shields reinforced fore. Signal _Damocles _and _Odysseus _to break formation, and circle around from each side. Prepare the torpedo launchers.

_Commandant's Quarters, Yal'ak'at Prison, 4 January 2382_

"So, this is Starfleet's best, is it? How have you enjoyed your stay? Is it just like Earth, or Vulcan, or whatever shithole you call home? Have my soldiers made you feel welcome?" The nasal tone of the Commandant's voice was simpering and cruel as he mocked the two naked women in front of him.

His eyes leered at their bodies, the bruises of their tortures and rapes exciting him further.

"Which one of you will have the pleasure and honour of being first, hm? Will one of you seek to protect the other from my enjoyment? Hope to get this over with quickly? Which one of you will show me that famous Starfleet gusto first?"

"I- I will." Rachel said, looking over at Bellia, who barely able to stand.

"Ah! I do so love it when they volunteer! Very well, come here, and kneel before me, whore. The fates have been kind to you so far – I see that your mouth is largely unbruised..."

_Prisoner's Compound, Yal'ak'at Prison, 4 January 2382_

"Wha- what was that?"  
"What was what? Corder, make some sense..."

"I thought that I heard something...over there, by the-"

Two quick blasts of red came through, and slammed into the chests of the two guards standing watch over the prisoners. The M'loi slumped to the ground, dead, and in, silently and gracefully, came three tall humanoids, covered from head to toe in black, except for two slightly reflective red points where their eyes should be.

The three figures glanced around quickly, before the masks were removed, and the most beautiful sight greeted them.

"How many are here?"

"What? Who-"

"We don't have time. How many prisoners?"

"Uh..about a thousand. Who are you?"

"_Fuck. _A thousand? Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty sure, give or take a hundred or so. Now, who-"

"Captain Shayna Heim, MACO. We're your rescue."

"I hope you have ships, Captain, since we're not-"

"The 132nd is currently fighting in space above the planet."

"Admiral Erod is here? But he was in the-"

"Admiral Erod is dead. Admiral Picard commands the 132nd now."

A tall, black man strode over to the two conversing humans.

"_Admiral _Picard? Jean-Luc Picard?"

"Yes...?"

"It's about time he came. I'll help you get the prisoners ready to go. The M'loi are going to try and kill all of us pretty soon, I hope you're ready for an attack."

"We brought spare phasers, but we weren't actually expecting more than a few dozen prisoners. Certainly not a thousand or more. We've only got about fifty type-3s, and perhaps a dozen type-2s."

"That'll be enough, Captain. From what I've managed to make out, there are about two hundred M'loi soldiers guarding this installation. When is evac?"

"In roughly one hour and twenty minutes, Mister...?"

"Call me Ben, most people do. I'll get the best shots in the camp."

Ten minutes later, Ben had gathered who he considered to be the best shots amongst the prisoners, and the MACO had dispersed the weapons as best they could.

"They should be getting the reports of the battle any time now, so we have to be ready to fight this out. Some of us have been here for months – believe me, we're ready to give a little in return for what we've endured. Too bad you folks didn't bring more of those nifty suits."

Shayna smiled at the man's wide grin and easy manner. "Fresh off the line, I'm afraid. This is their first field test."

"How'd they perform?"

"Like a dream, Ben. Now, from the scans we've taken of the installation-"

"You'll have gained nothing from them. The place has a distortion effect – probably why you didn't pick up more lifeforms in the place. I've managed to scout out most of it. There are five entrances that should be focused for defence. How many ships are there coming?"

"Well, the entire 132nd, plus some additional units we've picked up along the way. Although, only three of the smaller ships were detailed to evacuate the prisoners; we weren't expecting so many."

"Which ships?"

"The _Defiant,_ and then two _Sabers, Damocles _and _Odysseus-_"

"The _Defiant?_ Worf?"

Shayna tilted her head inquisitively. "Yeah, Captain Worf is in command. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. However, I don't believe this is the time-"

"You're right."

"Now, it will take those three ships probably twenty minutes to beam everyone up, assuming they're free to do so without contest. We've got to hold out for at least an hour and a half at this point."

"Yes, sir. There are four other MACOs in the facility, causing mayhem and mischief, which should at least distract some of the guards enough for us to last out the fight. Those able to fight most effectively should be the last ones to be beamed out, and those requiring immediate medical attention should be first. It would be a great help if..."

"Not a problem, you don't need to ask. I'll go sort out the order for people to be taken."

"Thank you."

"And another thing, Shayna...the M'loi...they rape their prisoners. There are at least a dozen prisoners, mostly female, missing from the camps. I'll not leave without them."

"I understand, sir."

_Main Bridge, USS _Enterprise_, 4 January 2382_

"Signal the _Hawthorn_ and the _Brenna_ to concentrate their fire on that battleship in grid-A-24"

"Aye, sir."

Picard surveyed the tactical display. The battle was going surprisingly well, and now more than thirty of the M'loi ships had been taken out of the fight – more than half. Only a single Starfleet vessel had taken serious damage, and Captain Yuiridesof the _Sable_ had informed the Admiral that repairs were under way, and no permanent damage was expected. Sitting back for the first time during the battle, a small frown smile onto his face. The M'loi fleet was in dissarry since the destruction of many of the command ships, and were little more than sitting ducks for the well organized 132nd.

"Captain Data, how much longer will it take Archangel to complete their mission?"

"Approximately another 25 minutes, sir."

"Very good. Inform me when they are on their way out."

"Aye, sir."

_Commandant's Quarters, Yal'ak'at Prison, 4 January 2382_

"You humans are so fragile. I'm surprised you are still conscious, _Lieutenant_. Your friend does not seem to have been so lucky..." The M'loi sneered her rank, making it seem a filthy and debased thing.

Bellia lay quietly on the bed, shaking silently at all she had witnessed in the last hour. Rachel lay beside her, eyes closed, but breathing softly and evenly, a sign of unconsciousness, given all that had happened. Moments later, Bellia heard an alert sound from the door. The Commandant went from the bedroom, and answered the door. Bellia saw a flash of red, and heard a heavy _thud _as something hit the floor.

"Check the bedroom. Two are still missing." A female's voice was heard.

"Uh, Captain? You'd better come in here...I found them."

A black suited human who Bellia assumed to be the 'Captain' walked into the room, and looked at Bellia's naked form, bruised and bleeding on the bed.

"Heim to insertion team. We've got the last two. Bring everyone to the compound. We're getting out of here. Signal to Archangel that we'll be ready to go." Bellia saw the one in charge signal to her companion to pick up both women, while the one who she heard refer to herself as 'Heim' picked up the stunned form of the Commandant. Bellia knew he had only be hit by a low level phaser blast, but she hoped that it had hurt.

_Sickbay, USS _Enterprise, _4 January 2382_

"Doctor Crusher? Several of the prisoners show signs of vaginal and anal bruising, as do some of the mouths and throats. I believe they have been subjected to sexual abuse." The Vulcan's voice was infuriatingly calm as she listed off the horrors many of the prisoners had been subjected to.

Beverly had been a doctor for a long time, and she had seen rape victims before, and it bothered her every time. The dead, at least, were not heir to the thousand natural shocks that flesh was subjected to, and these women and men were subjected to worse than most. Her eyes welled up when she thought of Rachel and Bellia laying on their biobeds, sedated against the pain.

"Start them- start them on Larazine, and watch their vitals closely."

"Yes, doctor."

_They'll never be the same. Not after that. But I can at least heal their wounds._

Beverly shook her head against the thoughts, and looked back at Jean-Luc, who had come to sickbay to see the survivors. He was white as a ghost.

_He's seen injuries to the body before. But he's not as inured to injuries to the soul._

"Admiral?" No answer.

Then quieter. "Jean-Luc?"

Picard shook his head, and immediately went as quickly as dignity would allow out of sickbay, and towards the turbolift. Beverly chased after him, but the doors closed before she could make it onto the lift. She stood there, staring at the doors.

_Damn. Damn. Damn._


End file.
